Hi! I'm kind of new to writing- the creative, published writing, that is. This is based off a Creek AU created by a cutie on tumblr: post/33536430760/alternate-au-of-the-one-where-tweek-is-a I don't plan on making it long, just another chapter or two. Hope you enjoy! U w U
Tweek had no idea how his curiosity overcame his common sense so easily, but what was done was done. He found himself standing in front of the creaking and crumbling old house he stumbled upon last week, looming over him in all its three-story glory. What was once a charming white establishment now had paint cracked and peeling to reveal rotted wood underneath, garden plants shriveled into dry carcasses, a picket fence destroyed by weather and neglect—all imprisoned underneath weeds and moss.
What pulled Tweek in even further in investigating was what laid around the house: A bike against the porch, a tire swing hanging by a thread on the tree near the corner of the house, and a doll with its back against the single attic window. The idea of children once occupying this house erased most of Tweek's guess of it being a mass-murderer's hide-out. Because what if that's how he lured his victims in!
No, the objects were too old and decayed to win a child's favor. They belonged to the family who inhabited the house. And how did Tweek know this?
A ghost girl chased him off a week ago.
Not chased, Tweek admitted to himself. More like he dashed right out of there the second he saw her, screaming his head off and riding his bike down the dirt road that brought him there. From it to the main road took fifteen minutes to pedal, and another twenty to civilization. The journey back after being spooked took all of ten.
The mystery of the ghost girl kept nagging at his mind the whole week it took him to gather up his courage and come back. He was always interested in the paranormal, a shock to some who thought they knew the jumpy boy well. Paranoid and concocting impossible theories since he was young, Tweek grew up thinking he might one day prove these things real, or at least debunk them so they wouldn't be able to occupy his mind anymore. He spent days at the school library looking up various subjects in the supernatural, and roamed the Internet for local stories at night. Of course a lot of strange things happened where he lived, but you couldn't find many records on them he unfortunately found out. The townsfolk he was even acquainted with never openly talked of the unusual past event. It was like they just wanted to forget? Well not Tweek. Tweek had to know, and get proof of what he knew.
The blonde boy looked down at his watch—2:55, around the same time he was here before. He rolled his sleeve back down over it, and patted his hoodie pocket. His flashlight was still in there. On his back was his school backpack, carrying his mom's expensive camera secure in another bag, a water bottle, a couple granola bars, extra batteries, a notebook and pen, and the cell phone he hardly used except for emergencies.
"Now," Tweek started aloud, "do we check the perimeter, or head straight inside?" Both were tempting, and equally terrifying. The ghost girl had been outside on the porch, and he didn't know how he would react if he saw her again. Adjusting his pack, he decided he could walk around and look for a back door. Answers that question, he thought.
He slowly crept along the side near the tire swing tree, just beside the dead garden vegetation; it was enough space between him and the windows, in case he saw that girl's face peering out through the curtains that covered most of the view inside. When he reached the corner, he slowly stuck his foot out into the open first.
Dragged the rest of his body, half of his form visible.
Put his hands on the house.
Took a peek.
Nothing to be seen but trees and the broken-down fence.
He breathed, and started walking again. He was in the backyard now, and there were no more plants but small dead flowers to distance himself from the windows, which were now bigger, but still covered by the moth-eaten curtains behind the dusty glass. Not a door anywhere.
Something suddenly grabbed Tweek by his left leg and he screamed. The flashlight fell out of his hoodie as he stumbled, running backwards all the way into a birdbath, which cracked and fell to the ground. His shoelace got stuck in the fractured base and the boy fell forward- luckier than injuring himself had he landed on his back atop of the stone wreckage.
Nose-deep in dirt, Tweek spouted muffled "Shit shit shit shit!" in panic and shakily pushed himself up on his hands. He got up on his feet as fast as he could, legs wobbly and feeling light-headed at first, but he had to stand his ground to whatever got him. At least that's what he thought he'd do; he still wasn't sure he'd see this second visit through to the end. He looked toward the house and kept his eyes on it as he slowly reached down for his flashlight. Nothing but windows and trees and fences, again. Then another pressure was felt on his other leg.
Tweek's hands flew up to his mouth, as did the flashlight he was holding. After shutting his eyes at the throbbing pain in his lower lip, he opened them slowly again and found himself staring down at a grey cat rubbing against his legs. It looked up at him innocently, mewing for attention the dirt-covered blonde was reluctant to give.
"F-fuck off!" he spat, pointing the flashlight at it. The cat flinched, but began mewing and rubbing against the bottom of Tweek's jeans again. "I mean it, y-you... you scared me!" He brought two fingers to his bottom lip and inspected them quickly. He wasn't bleeding, but he sure was in a lot of pain. The creature responsible was enjoying its newfound company. Tweek sighed and gave in to a few scratches behind the ear. A stray was a lot better than a ghost or a zombie trying to nab him, he decided. "Do you live here, too?"
The cat looked up at him without signs of understanding, not that Tweek expected an actual response. He sat on his heels and inspected what he could see of the house again: The big windows on the first floor, a few smaller ones on the floor above, and another small attic window parallel to the one in the front. Bringing his eyes back down, he saw an open basement window behind the wilted flowers. Too small for him to fit through, but the most definite way the cat came from. "So you do live here."
One last pat on the back for the cat and Tweek was on his feet again. He felt bad looking at the accidental vandalism behind him, yet he had to move on; breaking something and running away was not the impression he wanted to make on whatever spirits lingered. "Shit," Tweek swore under his breath. He paced to the next side of the house. "Will the ghost girl be mad at me?"
The question was left unanswered like the last, though it no longer mattered when he found the second door he was looking for. It was cracked and rotted like the rest of the exterior, and when Tweek hesitantly took it by the doorknob, he found it to open with the eeriest, blood-chilling creak. No matter how far he pulled, inch by inch the sound only got worse. It sent shivers down his spine and shook his nerves as the hinges shrieked, until he couldn't take it anymore, and threw the door open as fast as he could.
The new light outlined the dusty objects in the room, on opposite sides of his shadow standing in the middle of the doorway. Everything else was nearly pitch black if it was hidden away from what little light also escaped through the windows. From what Tweek could make out, he was in the kitchen, counters outlining the room with the fridge and stove nestled in the corner. He found a light switch to his right, flicking it up for a quick chuckle at the expected reaction: Nothing. To his left and a few paces forward, an archway opened the kitchen up to a few shadowed dining chairs, perfectly align and facing the darkness-hidden table.
Pulling out his flashlight, Tweek scanned what he could see one last time before turning it on. It didn't have the strongest light, but did its job nevertheless. He closed the door quickly, allowing the split-second scream of the hinges before he clicked it shut. Was it a good idea? Maybe not, Tweek thought, but he might have a heart attack if it slams on its own… like in the movies.
He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through pursed lips as he moved his flashlight around the room. The wallpaper was pale with flowers running along the middle, mold building in one of the top corners. He inched forward, slowly but surely, almost bumping into a small round table by the archway. On it was a single candle, its wax hard and flowed over the metal holding it was on. Tweek smiled, thinking this was a good a photo opportunity. He set his bag on the small chair beside it to take out his mom's camera bag. The flashlight was placed with its beam up on the ceiling.
When the camera was around his neck, Tweek turned it on and started fumbling with the settings. Close-up, flash, landscape.
Three shots were taken, the candle on the left view, and what he could grab of the kitchen making up the background. He looked through the shots, checking them over. He wasn't exactly a photographer, but his mom did weddings and events, and surely he had picked up something from her with how well and artsy-fartsy his shots came out.
Satisfied, the camera was stuffed back into the two bags as he grabbed the flashlight and ventured onward. Had he looked closer at his work, he could have made out a pale face staring back at him next to the trash bin.
The paranormally-intrigued teen had made it through the dining room and a bathroom without incident, taking a few shots in both. He walked through the hallway that connected them and few other rooms he had left to investigate, until some framed photographs caught his eye.
Wooden and brass picture frames hung crookedly, one that was in direct view of a window's small ray of light had faded the picture it held. Creepily enough, it whited out only the face of what Tweek could tell was a very large man. The Faceless Man. The girl's father? He couldn't remember much of the girl running away as fast as he did, but he knew she was tiny. Maybe he resembled her in the face, the idea making Tweek shudder. The girl definitely had a face, he could remember that much. She stared at him, with an expression he couldn't read in time before his fear got the best of him. He moved on to the rest of the photographs, where he had to blow the dust off to see better. (There was the risk of the frames falling and the old nails falling out too, and he didn't want to have to deal with that.)
The largest photo was a family portrait, Tweek was certain. A large man was present, bald apart from a few styled bits of hair—just like the Faceless Man. Though old and black and white, his features were easily seen as intimidating with his mouth in a straight line, but his eyes were soft and kind. The woman next to him, presumably his wife, had lighter hair than him with a face too young for it to be grey or white. Blonde? Probably. She wore the same straight, old-times-portrait face, eyes more stern, but in no way cruel that Tweek could make out. You could tell she was the tougher parent, even being so much shorter and thinner than her husband; a whole foot difference in height and width.
Tweek prepared himself before looking into the face of the daughter that stood in front of her mother, but he still felt the same dread that was there when he first encountered her. She was twelve years-old at the most, her hands in her lap and her hair in pigtails—the shade matched her father's. The youth still lingered in her features, and the corners of her mouth were pulled up in the tiniest smile. Actually, she looked like she was trying to hold back a laugh. Tweek felt relieved, until he looked into the cold, printed eyes of the boy standing next to her.
Hands behind his back, hair slicked back and best suit on, this boy stared at the camera with an expression much different from the rest of his family. His face was more serious, not a hint of gentleness or amusement to be found. His hair was jet-black, something also unshared with his company. Was he really their son? Was he adopted? Tweek squinted and leaned in closer without the picture going fuzzy in his vision. Turned out he and his father had the same straight nose, he and his mother the same thin lips; thick eyebrows shared by all four. Related or not, the boy was out of place. He was nearly as tall as his father. Maybe sixteen or seventeen here? Tweek was sixteen, but couldn't even begin to dream of being that tall. Hell, his voice still cracked on occasion.
Smaller pictures held individual members of the family, just the parents, or… just the girl. Tweek kept scanning the wall, but couldn't find the boy anywhere else. He looked down at his feet, but no other frames littered the floor. It was weird, and Tweek definitely needed pictures oh his own. A couple shots of the whole wall were taken, then of each frame. (It was scary to snap the Faceless one, even if he did have a face to put on it now.) He had them in his camera now, flipping through them quickly, and nodding to himself.
"I should start a 'Haunted South Park' blog," he commented. But his voice came out in a breath of white air—the kind you see when it's cold outside.
Tweek's fingers froze around the camera. He exhaled again: White clouds.
The camera went to sleep on its own, the screen now black. With his flashlight off for convenient use of the camera, the whole room was black, save for the light that shown on the Faceless Man. He was afraid to look up and around, his body feeling the chill that gave his breathing visual life. He tried to stop breathing out his mouth, but the warm mist from his nostrils was faintly visible. It was the only thing he could see in the dark. Not even his reflection stared back at him from the camera.
But something did.
It slowly creeped up on him and over his shoulder.
A single, white face and neck.
It was staring back at him through the camera's dead view screen, eyes and mouth hard.
The serious face of the misplaced son was the last thing Tweek saw before black totally consumed him in unconsciousness.
Wow what a gross chapter. This is what happens when I can't draw out what I want: I try to write it. Stay tuned...? - LZ