AN: Lookie there! Another chapter? Astonishing! Okay, okay, so there are many amazing things wrapped up in ONE sparkling chapter, along with suspense! Drama! Anger! And, overcaffeinated Terror! But, first, many thanks to those who reviewed! It was really, really, REALLY inspiring to hear what you guys thought! They, being the reviews, really were motivating and actually did help in speeding up my writing process. And we thought that was all in FFN myths and legends! So, in my gratitude, yet another installment of TYS! Hope you guys like it and tell me what you think!!!

PS: I'm glad you decided to take the good friend route and beta this. I know how much you wanted to go the lazy routine so thanks a lot to you too KC :)

-uncmeister


Phase 7: What Lurks in Laundromats

Tweek

These people…

"OH GOD! I can't do this dude! I can't!"

…are…

"Yes you can, Tweek! Just climb in, would you?"

…absolutely…

"NO! I CAN'T! I'LL DIE I TELL YOU!"

…fucking…

"Jesus Christ, you're not going to die. Now get IN."

...insane.

My pulse thuds quickly in my ears, and my fingers tremble and blanch as my grip on the icy steel tightens. "He's right Tweek; you'll be fine," that traitor Token reassures me with a smile from his cozy spot on an overturned basket, but I know better than to fall for that. I don't trust any of them, not a single one of them--no matter how reassuring the smiles are.

"Yeah, butt hole, you'll be fine."

"Shut up fatass, no one was talking to you," that OTHER traitor Clyde remarks dryly with a yawn. He stretches along the bench he's laying on like everything's okay when they are NOT okay. Not at ALL!

"AY! DON'T CALL ME FAT!"

Tiny beads of sweat trickle down my temple and along the side of my horrified face. I can't help but gape at the three completely and utterly PSYCHOTIC psychos in front of me. And no, I'm not being fucking redundant because that's what they are! Psycho! Insane! Mentally incapacitated! No, no, no, no, NO! I REFUSE to partake in this! Refuse! Don't they get it? This isn't safe! This isn't safe at ALL! We're in WAY over our heads! Way, way, WAY over our heads! I can already feel it – that all knowing sense of dread rattling in my bones, gnawing away at my sanity like Cartman on a buffalo wing. We're in danger – I'M in danger. Why can't these people see that?!

My right eye gives a little twitch of determination and I shudder for what feels like the millionth time today. This was not how my birthday was supposed to be.

I was supposed to be at my house, eating cake with family and friends, opening birthday presents at the kitchen table, playing Twister in the family room, prank calling retirement homes, and stuff like that. I was NOT supposed to be stuck here in this place of pure unadulterated evil being pawned away for humanity's sake! No, as usual things had gone from mildly terrible to absolutely, horribly wrong.

"I AM NOT GOING IN THERE!" I shriek and wrap my arms tighter around the metal beam I've recently become attached to. "NOT EVEN FOR A THOUSAND--NO--A MILLIONPEPPERMINT MOCHACHINOS!"

From the corner of my eye, I can see Token and Clyde exchange quick glances. "Dude, he's really serious isn't he?" one of the two whispers loud enough for me to hear and retort, "YES! YES I AM!"

"Yes you are, you fucking pussy!" Cartman yells, flushing indignantly. He whips out a too familiar piece of paper from the backpack he brought along for the mission and shakes it in my direction. "You signed an agreement, now you're getting in that fucking dryer! Besides you're the only one small enough to fit!" Cartman adds with a humph.

"NO! YOU'RE JUST A FUCKING FATASS, FATASS!" I yell automatically. My tongue suddenly burns and I realize my fatal mistake. I just called Cartman fat. I called fatass fat. FUCK.

"THAT'S IT! NOW YOU DIE!" Cartman roars and lunges for me like an enraged boar in teddy bear pajamas. Luckily, I scramble to the other side of the pillar before the animal can reach me.

"Will you two just SHUT UP?!" Craig yells throwing his hands up in the air. Cartman and I instantly freeze in our places: fatass with his arms thrown out in front of him ready to wring my throat, and me cowering in his shadow. Cartman throws Craig a dirty look over his shoulder and I almost glare at him too, but after all of the trouble I've put Craig through, I can only bring myself to pout in a self-contained outrage.

Craig looks at me levelly like I'm some irate brat screaming because this fat idiot stepped on my foot. I hate it when he does that! "Tweek, he's right. You're the only one who can fit, now just climb in the god damn dryer." My not-quite-but-some-what-of-a "best friend" tells me this as calmly as he can. I don't know when we became official 'best friends,' but he apparently made that fact evident earlier tonight when he unsuspectingly saved my life then harassed me about my connections with Cartman. He actually thought I was best friends with that conniving asshole! And he was jealous too, I think quietly. I'd be excited about this new development if it wasn't for the fact that he's trying to get me KILLED!

"Craig's got a point, Tweek," Clyde points out nonchalantly whilst poking through an abandoned Seventeen Magazine he found on the gross brown tiled floor.

"B-BUT WHAT IF I GET TRAPPED IN THERE AND THE DRYER TURNS ON?! WHAT IF THEY SHOW UP AND -NGH- I GET TAKEN CAPTIVE BECAUSE I CAN'T GET OUT?! THEY'LL TEAR ME APART WITH THEIR LITTLE GNOME FINGERS AND…AND…AND….I DON'T KNOW--MAKE ME MODEL BOYS BRIEFS FOR THEM OR SOMETHING?! THEY WOULD DO IT TOO! THEY'RE SICK AND TWISTED LIKE THAT! PLUS I HAVE S-STAGE FRIGHT!!! REALLY, REALLY BAD STAGE FRIGHT!" I shout, scooting further behind my protective beam from Craig, who looks like he's about ready to disembowel me, and Cartman, who just smacks his forehead with a groan.

"Oh. My. GOD!!!"

"Oh shut up Fatass", Craig mutters and then, suddenly something changes. His eyes flash and his lips quirk into a little half smile, and then turns to me and looks me straight in the eye. At the sight of his suspiciously amused blue eyes, my jaw drops and I freeze like a deer in the headlights.

Oh shit.

Oh SHIT! I know that look. It's The look--the same one he uses on me every time he wants to persuade me into to doing something I know is going to get me killed or cross some sort of bad karma God! More importantly, it's the one that ALWAYS FUCKING WORKS!

NO! OH GOD NO! I desperately throw my head to the side to try to avoid eye contact, but it's too late. The damage is DONE. Craig already knows that I know that he knows that I know that I'm screwed because he looks up at me from under his dark lashes and says in the most honest and connivingly innocent of ways that's more manipulative than reassuring, "Tweek, don't you trust me? I said I was going to be guarding it, so I'm gonna guard it. I won't let anyone hurt you. Pinky promise." Craig extends his pinky towards me, his eyes twinkling like stupid freaking stars.

I damn myself over and over again. That familiar feeling that I'm royally fucked churns my stomach as I stare horrified at him and then at his extended pinky. Why does he always haveput me in these types of positions?! This isn't a matter of trust, for God's sake; it's a matter of LIFE or DEATH! I open my mouth to say just that but Craig, that bastard, fixes me with the most scary don't-you-dare-speak-another-word-you-asswipe-or-so-help-me-god-there'll-be-hell-to-pay look. I quickly swallow my words and nerve and hastily interlock my pinky with his. "…F-fine. I'll -urgh- do it. But if I die---!"

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE!"

I stare helplessly at Craig, waiting for him to get some common sense, but with no luck.

"Well? Get moving" He says, gesturing for me to get a move on.

Fine. I give up. I'm going to DIE and he doesn't care. No one does. Because for some reason I'M the one that's crazy, not them. Fuck.

I suck in a deep breath and with much fear, turn to face what I am absolutely, positively sure is my ultimate doom: a standard Laundromat dryer, simplistic in design and in function--at first glance. Oh sure it looks safe, but I know it's far from what could be considered 'safe'. A laundromat dryer? Safe? Ha!

With a shiver I throw open the circular door and climb into the bowels of the dryer. It's dark and the chilly metal on the inside is cool to the touch. I slouch back into a more comfortable position, and squeak when Cartman slams the small door, cackling the demon he is outside my new dwelling. Best birthday my ass. With trembling fingers I pull out a small rectangular voice recorder I hid in my jacket pocket earlier and press the red record button.

"January 26th 2009; This is Tweek Tweak…Today is my ninth birthday and possibly my last. The time is 2:54 am and the location is…The Laundromat."

Never in all of my wildest dreams or darkest nightmares would I have ever begun to conceive the idea that I would have to spend my birthday--the one that was supposed to be the "best"--hiding inside some stupid cramped dryer at a decrepit 24/7 Laundromat. Despite popular belief, Laundromats are truly terrifying places. The creepy sea green tile, the flickering neon 'open' sign, the wall of washers and dryers rumbling softly, and the rancid scent of someone else's gym socks is enough to make my skin crawl. To add to the inviting scenery, abandoned hangers, laundry baskets, and clothing lay on benches all around us like corpses on a battlefield. But, it's not just the smelly socks and the creepy hangers that have me ready to forget my agreement and run all the way home; it's something much, much worse.

Do you know what lurks in Laundromats? I do. Oh, how I do. Let me ask you this: what else is there to wash, dry, starch and press besides socks, bras, shorts, skirts, shirts and pants? I'll tell you what: UNDERPANTS. There are underpants EVERYWHERE; in the dryers, in the washing machines, on the floor, in the baskets, on racks and hangers--there's even a giant mural of a pair of Tightie Whities for Clorox Bleach on the front window for God's sake!! And with so many pairs of underpants comes evil; short, bearded, pointy-hatted EVIL. It's places like these that are havens for underpants gnomes and that's exactly why we're here.

Before you come jumping to conclusions, let me say that it was NOT my idea to come here in the middle of the night to search for gnomes, with me as the premiere choice for bait; it was that conniving fatass-son-of-a-bitch who thought this thing up. I'm talking of course, about Cartman.

After the "incident," Craig, Token and Clyde were shocked to say the least. Evidently all of those years of my warnings had never touched base with those "realist" idiots. Honestly, I've always known that they tuned me out, but come on! I snort and rub my embarassingly thin shoulder in a fruitless attempt to warm myself up.

However, I wasn't getting to how they're such wonderful friends or what fantastic listeners they are; I was getting to the fact that they're complete morons.

It went something like this. While Craig was interrogating me, Clyde was downstairs with the other two when Cartman decided to stir up some crap. Apparently, he was bragging about how his present was going to be way awesome and how much I was going to love it (like I'd love anything the fatass gave me). Clyde got all defensive and decided to show Cartman just how awesome HIS present was and how much I'd like HIS over Cartman's, but when he went to retrieve the present from his bag, all he found was a mysterious red envelope at the bottom of the bag.

If you know anything about Clyde, Token or even fatass, you know that they just HAD to open it. They didn't even check for poison or chloroform or, fuck ANTHRAX! SERIOUSLY? COME ON! But urgh, anyways, not surprisingly, it was actually Cartman who suggested it since Clyde was freaking out about the missing panties, (the very same Hello Kitty panties he had snatched), but they all read it and were equally unprepared for what happened next.

The envelope was sealed with a tiny pair of black wax underpants and within it was a note addressed to me, Craig and Cartman that read:

"In address to those who stand in our way,


"We know who you are and we know what you're trying to do. We would suggest that it would be in your best interest to abandon those pursuits immediately if you wish to live. However, if you wish to continue meddling with things that are not to be meddled with, please take to heart that we are more than willing to take care of certain…complications by what ever means necessary. This is your one and only warning. We are watching you.


P.S. Dispose of this note immediately after reading. You have 10 seconds till self-destruction.


P.P.S. Just kidding. But you are warned.


-the Order"

The letters had been cut and pasted, and "the Order" is vague enough to make it impossible to tell who wrote it, but I believe the pair of BLACK UNDERWEAR says exactly who the culprit is.

What happens next is common knowledge, and later in the midst of the chaos that was me screaming, Clyde sobbing, Token rationalizing, and Craig swearing, Cartman had decided to become the big, "buff," and bold hero of the day, lumbering into the center of the room where he bellowed a very loud, "SHUT UP," to get our attention. He held up that damn note like he was Rafiki holding Simba from the Lion King, and in many wise and colorful words, explained and persuaded the ignorant three (Clyde, Craig, and Token) that something had to be done about the underwear gnomes, whom they had until an hour earlier, never even believed in. Cartman's plan was to sneak out at midnight when all the stalkers and serial killers are out for tea and biscuits and hang out at a god-forsaken Laundromat to try to capture an underpants gnomes. ALIVE.

But you know what gets me? My friends went along with it. They WENT along with it! Who knows, maybe it was a moment of weakness for them, or perhaps it was because what Cartman had to say made a lot more sense than a death threat from pint sized garden icons, but the fact stands that they consented to a plan that Cartman – CARTMAN – had concocted.

Oh, and notice how I had no involvement with the decision process– that's because I didn't. In fact, I was REALLY against it but who can forget that no one EVER listens to Tweek Tweak the raving lunatic! GOD DAMMIT! Now I'm stuck on MY birthday as living BAIT for godless underpants stealing KILLING MACHINES in some creepy Mountain Rain scented HELL at three in the morning (three o' three to be exact), a.k.a. THE WITCHING HOUR!

I swear it was that fucking fatass! He's too smart for his own damn good! He had me beat from the beginning, forcing me into some sort of agreement with him just to hold it over my head at every twist and turn. The second he had said "capture" and "gnome" I practically had a heart attack. Actually, I bet I did. Of course I called him insane and told him that it was suicide! (Capturing an underpants gnome? ALIVE? Who does he think we are?! The fucking ghost busters?!) But, he laughed and cruelly told me that I had "an obligation to the contract," and that I was already beaten four to one. What's worse was that he was right. I was beaten four to one and I'll never forget Craig's face when he agreed with Cartman and told me to quit being such a pussy and just go along with it.

'Just go along with it?!' Out of all the nine long years of being antagonized over my overly paranoid nature, of being criticized and judged and laughed at, never have I felt this bad. I would have at least expected Craig to agree with me and stick up for me but no; he sides with my most hated enemy (with the exception of decaf coffee and fake sweeteners) who he hates too! And he has the nerve to suddenly decide he's my best friend five minutes beforehand! What best friend does that?! God, I'm so MAD! I never get mad! But now I am! GAH!

I need to calm down. I need COFFEE. There must be some perfectly logical reason as to why Craig's being so weird. Maybe he's been brainwashed or something. I wouldn't doubt that the fatass has some sort of hypnosis or psychic ability to bend and twist innocents to his wicked ways.

I sigh and rub my temple tiredly, the darkness of the dryer easy on my strained, twitchy eyes. I take a deep breath of dryer-sheet scented air and release it again. Everything's just gone to hell and the reason is because of one tank sized asshole and some pintsized menaces who have a taste for delicates and destruction. To be honest, ever since those damn gnomes started stealing my underwear back in preschool, I knew something like this was bound to happen, and that they would ruin my life and the lives of countless others. But I had never expected something like this.

I shudder and wind my thin arms around my legs, resting my chin on top of my knees. Maybe I should've been less spineless. Maybe I could have prevented this whole outbreak earlier had I just followed them to their realm and destroyed them before they had the chance to get us. But the fact stands that I didn't, and now I have to do what I hate doing: deal with the consequences.

Just when I'm about to sink back into my pity tirade, I hear a sharp yelp proceeded by yelling and cursing from outside my metallic prison. Immediately I twitch as a stab of cold relentless fear pierces into my stomach. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from making any noises. Trembling, I hold my ear to the door as a struggle proceeds outside followed by a startled gasp and then everything falls silent.

My heart is pounding in my chest as my eyes widen in fear. It's quiet.

Oh god. OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD!!!

What happened?! Why's it so quiet?! Did the gnomes come? Did they abandon me or did they catch the gnomes? Or did the gnomes catch THEM? Oh GOD! What if they're dead?! What if the gnomes KILLED THEM!! Tears of panic spring to my eyes as I start to hyperventilate. What if they killed Craig?! He was supposed to be keeping me safe! If he's dead I'm dead!

I whimper and scoot as far away from the door as possible, my shoulders pressing against the back of the dryer. Suddenly, I hear another banging sound off by the dryer to my left, and then another, and another. Realization dawns on me that someone's opening all of the dryers one by one and its only a matter of time before I'm caught. My chest rises up and down quickly as my breathing increases rapidly with pure fear.

The slamming comes closer and closer until I feel a presence standing right outside my own hideout. This is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die on my 'best' birthday because of that fatass Cartman and those stupid evil, evil, evil gnome son of a bitches.

I brace myself for disaster as readily as I can manage, my heart thumping with every precious second of life. Please, please, please God save me! I know you don't like me and seem to have some sort of sick pleasure torturing me every chance you get, but PLEASE! For once in your eternal existence, HELP ME! I'll do anything! I'll become a straight laced Mormon! Go to Church every weekend, attend Sunday school! Jesus Christ, I'll even go door to door trying to expose people to the wonder that is you! JUST SAVE ME DAMMIT! Suddenly, like an answer to my attempt at a prayer, the metal door flies open and I gape at a surprised and very, very, VERY pissed off Kyle Broflovski peering in at me from the outside.

I'm saved. I'm truly saved. Thank you god. Thank you. Wait a minute...shit, does this mean I have to be a Mormon now?!

And just like that, my best day ever has gone from bad to worse, to completely and utterly annihilated. Actually no, maybe not completely. From the look on Kyle's face, there's still more horrors to come. Man, I'm need some coffee and some luck. Unfortunately, with Cartman in the way as well as these God forsaken gnomes, none of that's likely to happen. My future seems to be getting grimmer and grimmer by the second...

To Be Continued...


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