So, I had a very crappy weekend and I felt lower than shit when monday came around. I started remembering some things I didn't want to, when I found this quote while surfing the net. I had a total emo moment that would have done the Stan-into-Raven transformation proud.

EDIT: Again I must remind myself to never upload a fic in the middle of the night. I keep missing spelling mistakes. This edit is for Kiira-san, who has brought to my attention something I really should have put in.

Again there are some heavy things implied, but nothing explicit, so I'm keeping it Rated T, but as a warning, there is child abuse in this fic. I havent set a specific age for Kenny or Karen, but you can tell if you read this that THEY ARE CHILDREN in this. So yes, child abuse. You no like, get out.

I do not own South Park

Sometimes the night can be really scary, but to a little girl, it can be terrifying.

Karen McCormick lay in her bed, her tiny face hidden under her covers, clutching to her chest a raggedy looking teddy bear. His name was Mr. Wuggles. His left ear was torn off and he was missing an eye. He was her very first toy ever. Her brother Kevin had given him to Karen when she was two. Karen loved Mr. Wuggles, even though she could now surpass her bedroom doorknob in height, therefore being at the age that was too old to sleep with teddy bears.

She used to get teased about Mr. Wuggles, so she stopped bringing her teddy bear to school. But every night without fail the little girl would have her furry friend with her under the covers of her Dora the Explorer blanket. He was always held securely in her arms when someone came in to turn out her lights. Karen needed Mr. Wuggles. She didn't want to be alone.

Karen wasn't able to fall asleep right away like normal little girls, but her mommy and daddy would yell at her if she tried to leave her room. So she stayed curled up in her bed at night, with only Mr. Wuggles for company, and waited. Waited to fall asleep, or waited for him.

It was late and Karen was still up. The old digital clock on her nightstand said 11:46 pm. Karen could hear her parents snoring from the living room. It used to be a sound of comfort for the little girl… but not anymore.

It was cold too. Her family couldn't afford any window panning. They were too poor. So the cold wind could come whooshing in through her open window, flapping her pink curtains above her head. Karen used to be scared that monsters would climb through her window and eat her, so her daddy had taken the time to nail up some boards. That helped keep the air out, but just barely.

Her feet were sticking out from under her blanket, and her bare toes growing stiff from the cold. A chill was beginning to set in from her ankles down, but Karen dared not pull them back under. She was too terrified to move. It was almost time.

The boogeyman was coming.

When she was really little, her brothers used to tell her that monsters could only sense you if you moved around in your bed. Her mommy said they only told her that because they had to share the same bed once and she rolled around too much. But Karen trusted her brothers more than she did her mommy. So the little girl stayed still, even as her toes became numb and her teeth began to chatter. And soon, she hears it.

Creak creak creak.

Footsteps. It always started out with the same heavy footsteps. They made the same loud noises as those giant pair of feet made their way within her home. Karen knew by heart the route the boogeyman took. From the living room to the corridor where their bedrooms were, the boogeyman walked.

Creak creak crea-

They stopped. Karen knew the boogeyman was waiting outside her door. He always did. From under her covers she heard the handle of her bedroom door jiggle. Little Karen squeezed her eyes shut, and tightened her hold around poor Mr. Wuggles' neck so much she was sure she would have popped his other eye out. She held her breath and bit down hard on her lower lip.

The jiggling stopped. The footsteps moved on. With a great big gust of breath, Karen snapped her feet back under her blanket, and Mr. Wuggles was smashed between her legs and chest. The little girl wrapped her arms around her shins and waited. She listened as the footsteps made their way past Kevin's door. The boogeyman never bothered Kevin. Maybe he got too old for him to scare. Karen wished she was older too sometimes. Then she realized it wouldn't matter anyway. The boogeyman never came here for her.

The footsteps stopped again. The boogeyman had reached the end of the hallway. Her arms began to tremble. The only bedroom left was her brother Kenny's. Kenny's bedroom was right next to hers, and Kevin's bedroom was between them across the hall. Karen heard a door open and quietly close. More footsteps. Then she heard the sound of bedsprings groan as something heavy pressed down on the bed. She heard her brothers make a muffled noise. She knew it was him. She always when it was him. She heard the boogeyman's deep, gravelly voice, and the little girl cringed.

She hated this part, because she knew what was coming, and Kenny knew what was coming, and the boogeyman knew because he was the one about to do it, and it scared her, it scared her so much that her body began to react on its own. The silence seemed to stretch out, and her chest tightened painfully and her throat began to sting and it began to hurt to breath. The little girl hated, hated this part. Her brother made another sound, then there was a loud crack and a thud, and she heard the boogeyman laugh. Then there came the noises.

Karen began to cry.

She buried her face in Mr. Wuggles furry head as she hiccupped and whimpered, her tiny chest heaving great big gulps of air as she sobbed. She tried to focus on other sounds. The leaves outside her window as they moved in the wind. The steady beep of her clock. The plip plap of water from the broken faucet in the kitchen.

Nothing worked. She could still hear everything. The steady rhythm of creaks and screeching protest of the mattress springs, her brothers muffled cries, and the rough breathing of the boogeyman. Karen hated that sound most of all, even more than the sharp cries her brother made, a sound which tore through her heart. It was a sound only a monster could make; the low guttural growls of a cruel desire, the mad grunts of a twisted need.

Mr. Wuggles head was soaked through, but Karen refused to move. She refused to do anything. She couldn't do anything. She was too afraid. She could only lie there in her bed curled up in a ball and listen. Listen and silently cry as the boogeyman hurt her brother.

A long time later, the noises stopped. Karen hadn't moved from her position, and her arms and legs were stiff. She had stopped crying a while ago. She had run out of tears to spill. Karen wriggled a little under her blanket, and peeked her scruffy head out.

Again she heard the sound of a door being opened and closed. The littlest McCormick sat up in her bed, the sudden movement her blanket hanging precariously off her head. She was wearing an oversized green t-shirt that served as her nightie. All her pj's were t-shirts. Mr. Wuggles, in her haste, fell to the floor with a soft plop. She ignored him.

Karen stared at her bedroom walls, and her head moving in the directions the footsteps took, following them with her ears. This time, they did not stop outside her door. She sat and listened until she couldn't hear the footsteps anymore, and sat there and listened some more. Karen knew the boogeyman was gone. He wouldn't be back until another night. She was listening for something else.

Tap tap tap.

It came in the form of soft footsteps. They were too light to be the boogeyman's. The little girl listened as those soft footsteps went past her door. She heard the door of the McCormick's only bathroom open. The shower was turned on and Karen shivered when she thought of how cold the water would be. Some time past, and the water was turned off.

Karen stopped wondering how her parents never woke up, despite all the noise. They weren't light sleepers like she was. They could sleep through a rock concert. How she envied them that ability sometimes. Slowly, she looked to her nightstand. Her clock said 2:14 am. Her head snapped up, her soft brown hair slapping across her cheek, as she heard the footsteps start up again. They sounded different now. Heavier, as if the person walking could barely, or didn't even bother to, lift up their feet. They plodded now heavily across the McCormick threshold.

The little girl silently slid off her bed, barely missing stepping on Mr. Wuggles as her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor boards. She walked across her room, and unlocked her door with a soft click. Her little hands closed around her bedroom doorknob. She waited and listened, and when she heard the footsteps directly in front of her she threw open her door, startling the person in mid-step.

Kenny stood there wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, and one around his neck. His blonde hair was dripping water, and he had left wet footprints on the floor. He was staring at her, but his blue eyes were looking through her. Like all nights before this one, her brother's eyes held no essence in them, no spark of recognition, or gleam of affectionate surprise. These were eyes of someone dead.

Silently, Karen curled her thin fingers around her brother's arm. His skin was still a little damp. She gently pulled him into her room and led him to her bed. He did not resist, but continued to stare emptily at the floor.

She took off his towel- which she threw to the far corner of her room- and sat him on her bed. She went to her dresser, rummaging around until she pulled out a white t-shirt. With some difficulty, Karen maneuvered her brother's arms into the sleeves of the shirt and pulled it over his head. On her the t-shirt would have reached her ankles. They barely went past Kenny's knees.

Kenny's hair was still wet. He hung his head and soft droplets of water fell onto his lap. There was nothing else, and she didn't want to use the wet towel in the corner or go out for another one, so Karen cautiously pulled at the dry towel in her unresponsive brother's hands.

His grip tightened, and a flicker of fear shot through his eyes. Karen let go of the towel. The little girl carefully wrapped her short arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek on his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. She started to hum a quiet little lullaby. Slowly, Kenny's grip loosened, and the towel fell to the floor. Karen bent over and picked it up, brushing it off. Murmuring a soft, comfortingly wordless nonsense, she began to vigorously but gently dry her brother's hair. He continued to sit there, but one of his hands gripped the corner of her shirt.

When his hair was dry enough to her satisfaction, Karen maneuvered her brother to lie down. He still wasn't responding, but he moved where she wanted him to, and he lay on her bed on his side. She pulled her blankets up to his chin, and noted his eyes were already drooping. Karen scratched a small itch on her shoulder, and climbed up to lay down next to him. She stayed on top of the covers.

The little girl snuggled up to him, pressing as close as she was able to, and wrapped her arms around him as far as they could go. Still, he would not respond. So Karen pulled Kenny to her, her chin nestled in the soft locks of his hair. It was a little musky and smelled of wet and peach shampoo. In the darkness of her room, Karen felt rather than saw when Kenny reached out trembling hands, which held fast on the front of her shirt.

They stayed there like that, Kenny held in the folds of Karen's embrace. He whispered something to her, but it was the whisper he used when he was in pain and the boogeyman tormented him still. It barely went further than his own ears, but Karen caught it. She kissed the crown of his head as he began to tremble and made a noise in the pit of his throat.

Kenny began to cry. His sobs were so gentle they did not shake the bed. They were so quiet they could not be heard. They were so soft they could barely be felt. But Karen did. She heard them and she felt them. Her hands, so small compared to her brothers' hands which clutched at her so tightly, softly stroked his hair.

Soon he stopped shaking and fell asleep. Karen gently unhooked his hands from her shirt and got up. She silently dropped down from her bed and looked down where her toy lay at her feet, and her fingers twitched. She grabbed Mr. Wuggles by his arm, but did not feel like lifting him up.

She padded barefoot across the room, dragging her teddy behind her, and turned the doorknob quietly. The hinges, which were as old as her smelly grandfather, screeched. She looked over her shoulder. Kenny was fast asleep. Karen sighed in relief and closed the door behind her, careful not to make any noise. This time it stayed silent. Karen looked around her. Something caught her eye, and the little girl slowly walked toward it.

Pit… pat… pit… pat…

How could the sounds of her own footsteps make so much noise?

She stopped and she was standing in front of Kevin's door. All the cracks it's gained over the years forming into a demented smile. But it didn't frighten her. Karen stared at it, as if she thought she could blow it open with the force of her gaze, Mr. Wuggles' arm gripped tightly in her hand. Her face was unreadable. She lifted up her free hand and traced it down the front of the door. Slivers stabbed into the soft pads of her fingers, but the little girl didn't so much as flinch.

Her hand dropped to her side. She took a step forward. Karen rested her forehead against the hard wood, the surface cool against her warm skin. She could hear nothing from behind it. Not even the sound of breathing. Was Kevin awake?

Do you hear me? A tiny voice inside her head asked. Do you hear me as I go by your door? Do you hear what happens each night? Do you listen like I do and still do nothing?

She wanted to bang her fists against his door until they bled or it shattered. She wanted to kick and scream. She wanted to wake him up and make him see. But she didn't. She was still too numb.

Karen turned away, and walked to the door next to hers. Kenny's bedroom door was open. She let go of Mr. Wuggles' arm, and he sagged against the hallway wall. His single black button eye seemed to look at her sadly. Karen blew Mr. Wuggles a kiss and entered the room, alone. There was a strange smell inside.

The little girl wrinkled her nose and covered it with both her hands. It smelled like those times after mommy and daddy stayed locked in their room, when they weren't hitting each other and managed to stumble inside. But this was different. It smelled bad. Not bad like the dead cat on the street, or like the trash in the dumpster. It was just… bad. Kenny never bothered boarding up his windows. The wind blew freely inside and immediately washed away the scents around her. But the taint was still there. A forbidding shiver went down her spine, but Karen bravely stepped inside.

It was pitch black, but like most of her family, Karen's eyesight was as good as any bat in the dark. Kenny's lamp was smashed. His mattress had moved. It was now in the far corner of the room. Her eyes rested on the mess in the middle of the bed and her tummy did a violent somersault.

Karen swallowed the bile that was steadily creeping up her throat and looked away. She didn't have time to be sick. She saw something near her feet. She picked it up. It was the t-shirt Kenny usually wore to bed. It was ripped down the middle. There was blood on it. She swallowed hard, wrapping the remains of the tattered shirt around her hand like a make-shift glove, and made her way to the bed.

"Daddy's little girl" Karen McCormick, who cried when flowers were stepped on and placed baby birds back in their nests when they fell out, steeled herself and proceeded to pull off the corners of the sheets with the caution commonly used near a leper.

The sight of what was splattered all over the white sheets made her gag, but she stubbornly swallowed it down, and tied the corners together until it made a sort of sack. Karen was too small to lift the entire thing up, but she wouldn't have even if she could. She gripped the tied end and, with greater difficulty and a series of grunts, dragged the large bundle off the mattress and out of the room.

She stopped to grab Mr. Wuggles, clamping her lips over his tummy so that she could have the use of two hands, and began the process of making it to the kitchen. It wasnt so hard. She had to maneuver around where mommy and daddy lay curled up together, but that was about it. The kitchen was almost bare, save a single termite infested table and a couple of broken back door was nothing more than a ripped screen, so old Karen could use the square of her shoulders to push it open without a little bit of hassle. She dragged her baggage out the door.

Their backyard was crap, just like the rest of their home. Grass was nonexistent here. All it was was dirt, dirt, and rock. You couldn't dig any of it up. It was like trying to chisel stone. The earth was dead here. Dead, dead, dead. Karen dragged her bundle to the middle of the backyard and plopped it down. She rubbed her arms and shivered. It was chilly outside and she could feel goosebumps starting up her arms. She looked around, and spotted something red resting against the side of the house. It was the container of kerosene her daddy used sometimes. She was told never to play with it. Kenny died once when he drank half of it, after being dared by the tubby boy that he hung out with.

Deft little fingers grabbed the can, carrying it to where the sheets sat forlorn. The nozzle end tipped over it, thin hands shaking the can to deliver a generous amount of gasoline on the bundle of sheets, soaking it through. Karen opened the little red pouch hanging around Mr. Wuggles neck and took out a single match. She struck it against the rough earth and it lit as well as it would had she dragged it across sandpaper.

Without a single moments hesitation, the little girl flicked the burning match at the bundle, and it caught fire immediately. Karen watched the flames burn higher and higher, and watched as the smoke drifted up into the sky. Her eyes drifted higher until her head tilted so far back she fell backwards. She hit her head against the hard ground, and she gasped as the wind was knocked out of her and stars danced behind her eyes.

Owwww.

The little girl rubbed the top of her head, gagging out sharp coughs as she tried to fill her lungs with air. When her chest was heaving normally, Karen sighed and laid there quietly. Stray stones buried in the ground stabbed into the vulnerable parts of her leg where her nightie could not cover them, but she didn't mind them. Her large baby-blue eyes stared up at the clouds.

"…do you hear me God? It's me, Karen." Her soft voice carried high into the air. Karen wasn't worried about waking anyone up. No one would be up for a long long time. She could talk all she liked and no one would hear her. "Do you remember all those times I prayed to you each night? Remember those times when I asked and pleaded that you stop the boogeyman from coming inside and you didn't?"

The smoke was stinging her nose, and the brightness of the flames was beginning to hurt her eyes. Karen covered her eyes with the crook of her arm. Her chest heaved as she took in a long shuddering breath. She did not cry. Her eyes were dry. She just felt very cold, unable to warm herself from the fires heat.

Eventually she made a noise that was halfway between clearing her throat and a sob. She was not done talking yet. She was not yet done speaking out the words of her heart. They rushed from her lips in a flood, and once she started she could not stop the tirade.

"I used to wonder why you never answered. Now I think I know why. It's the same reason why you keep sending Kenny back even though he's died so much and was supposed to stay in Heaven. You don't care. Mommy said you're supposed to love all of us. But you don't. You don't love Kenny like Mommy and the priest said you were supposed to. He's the bestest brother I could have. He may be mean sometimes or a little weird but he's always there when I'm scared or hurting and I love him and so does Kevin and Mommy and Daddy. But you don't, and I don't know why."

That was all she wanted to say. Karen stayed until the very last bit of the sheets was destroyed and the fire burned itself out. The little girl sat up, her eyes never leaving the cloudy night sky. She heard her voice speak again. "You've never given my family anything, even though you're supposed to love us. We hurt and you ignore us. I've always been a good girl for you. I know I was. I've never ask you for much but I know you still won't answer me. I know."

She stood up and brushed the dirt off her butt. She picked up Mr. Wuggles, dusted him off, and kissed his button nose apologetically. She looked up one last time at the sky, her eyes a deep pool of anguish and hurt.

"…but I still wish you would love my brother."

Karen was given no answer, and she had expected none. Quietly, the little girl turned around and went back inside.

Dedicated to my childhood dollie, Mr. Wuggles. I miss you.