A/N: Headless Roommate This is the true title, but since Fanfiction is picky about posting, I changed it. Like always, I appreciate everyone reading and reviewing. Thanks to all.
It was nearly 2:30 in the morning before 18-year-old Brovfloski finally shut his English textbook. He glanced over at his roommate and best friend, Stan Marsh. He appeared to be sound asleep, with the covers pulled up over his head. Kyle stretched and yawned. He didn't have his first class until 9:00 am, but he was exhausted from cramming so he decided to go to bed. He undressed, leaving his boxers on.
He slipped under the covers and closed his eyes. He tossed and turned, but he just couldn't get to sleep. He had the distinct feeling something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Several minutes later, he heard soft humming. He looked over. "Dude, shut the hell up." He muttered. He did for a second. Then he started up again, this time singing, 'Oh when the saints, go marching in..." Stan sang quietly. Kyle had never him sing anything before, so he was a bit surprised he'd be starting now, especially at 3 in the morning. Kyle picked up his other pillow and tossed it at Stan, hoping that would make him get the hint. It seemed to work for a while.
In his hazy and sleep filled mind, Kyle thought he heard Stan again. This time, he was really pissed off. He tossed back the covers and crawled out of bed. He stood over his bothersome roommate, ready to give him a piece of his mind. He pulled back the covers angrily, and then he stumbled back in horror. He bumped into his desk, almost causing his lamp to fall to the floor. He placed a hand over his mouth to keep the bile from rising. Lying in Stan's bed was that of a stiffening corpse, with its head missing. A bloody mass of veins and bone stuck out at crazy angles. Who could've done such a terrible thing? Kyle started screaming at the top of his lungs, waking almost everybody up in the whole dorm building. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer.
Hurried footsteps pounded over the smooth white tiles as dozens of people flocked to the frightened teen's room. Kyle slowly answered the door in a dreamlike state; still not believing any of this was true. In all the panic and flurried activity, no one noticed a man crouched beneath Kyle's slightly open window, grinning madly from ear to ear. Nestled in the crook of his arm, was Stan's head, his pale face twisted in shock and terror. The scraggly looking man fingered the butcher's knife lovingly, almost gently as he opened his mouth. "Oh when the saints, go marching in..."
END