ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FAN FICTION — EVEN THOSE BASED ON FICTIONAL PEOPLE — ARE ENTIRELY MADE-UP. ALL DANTE REFERENCES ARE RESEARCHED… POORLY. THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS LEWD SEXUAL HUMOR AND DUE TO ITS LONG INTROSPECTIVE MONOLOGUES IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE. _|_|_|
Kenny
I had it.
Everything else in my brain was this clouded mass of mangled thoughts, duties and hopes and responsibilities all flickering in and out like sparks from a dying fuse, and the only thing that showed up clearly was that simple fact:
I had the lamp.
I was almost afraid to touch it with my bare hands.
Yes, I knew the risks of what had just happened. But Cartman had been wanting his chance to get his own mission anyway, and I could think of no better time than now to give him just that. We had someone going into the Carnival early; he'd absolutely be fitted with his wire, and keep us posted on whatever happened, I had to be sure of that. Plus, Craig and Stan were going to be the first two in once the gates began opening for the rest of us, and they were a couple of the best I could think of to have the first chance to attack if the need arose.
The thing that bothered me most was that I was last on the list. There was little doubt in my mind that Damien had arranged that exactly the way he wanted. But I had the lamp. I had the lamp. Even outside the Carnival, I was several steps closer to Red than I had been since the night of her disappearance.
When Karen and I returned home, after seeing Gary into his own house, armed now with a spare wire as a direct link back to any of us, I took the lamp immediately to the meeting room and set it at the end of the table, where I sat, removed my hood and mask, and simply stared at the thing.
It fit in both of my hands, and weighed much less than I'd expect it to, if I were looking at it on its own. There were no signs of tarnish, though it had to have been hundreds of years old, and undoubtedly made of pure gold. Carrying a faint scent of some kind of incense, it looked like a model of something out of the Arabian Nights, its design much like a long, short teapot, as I'd anticipated it would when Henrietta first told me about its existence.
I narrowed my focus on the object, and touched my right hand, still covered in its thick green glove, to the thin handle at the back. This thing, I reminded myself, had belonged to Alhazred, the madman who had written the Necronomicon, the first to record his madness from the likes of Cthulhu. In a way, a spiritual predecessor of mine. I had not gone crazy, I was not on the verge of madness nor did I ever intend to be, but I had seen the same things that man had. I had known R'lyeh firsthand.
This little tool was going to help me see the rest. This thing, according to Henrietta, could show me the Dreamlands. Where Red was. The Spaces Between, which Damien had been using to travel unnoticed between Hell and Earth.
"I'm coming," I whispered to it, through it, leaning in so closely to the lamp that I could almost see my own reflection in the polished golden side. "I'm going to find you, Red, no matter what barriers I have to break down."
"There aren't any barriers."
I sat back and held my breath.
"Don't turn around."
Red's voice was coming from behind me. And to my side, and from everywhere in the room. "Where are you?" I asked, cautiously.
"Somewhere I can see you."
I grabbed at the tabletop. My heart was pounding, and I bent over the lamp. The incense began to smell like my girlfriend's preferred perfume, simple but sultry and very, very real.
It's so much more dangerous to dream when you're awake. Sleep only gives you glimpses of whatever these Dreamlands are, manifested into images your brain can comprehend. Waking, the line between our world and whatever else there is becomes so blurred, it's hard to know what's 'real' anymore.
"You can see me?" I echoed, still staring at the lamp. My eyes were getting dry but I did not even dare to blink. If I closed my eyes or my ears for one second, the dream could be over.
"Yes," said Red. "Kenny?"
I took a deep breath, half afraid that this was it, that I was already failing at my aim to not join the insane. "Yeah?"
"Is this what it felt like for you, when you were the Shadow?"
I bit my lip.
When I was the Shadow, before we had defeated Cthulhu, when I could move through Spaces with the aid of the shadows around me, I had been aware of everything around me. At the same time, though, that kind of omnipresence was kind of lonely, because life in the shadows is like looking at life through a one-way mirror. No true windows, just spaces that allowed me to see everything around me, though nobody had a clear view of me.
"Do you feel safe?" I asked. She would know that my not answering her question was enough of an answer on its own. We would talk about that later. Later, when she was physically here.
"I'm not being threatened or anything, and I can see everything you're doing," Red told me. "So I feel protected, I guess."
"Red, can I get to where you are once I'm inside the Carnival?"
"Yes." She was beginning to sound hurried and desperate. I grabbed at the lamp, as if I could reach right through it and hold onto her. "But tell this to everyone, okay? Can you still reach everyone?"
"I… yeah, I can," I said. "Except, shit… Token's hurt, like, really hurt, and Cartman's on his way to the Carnival right now."
"He took the early entrance?"
"You knew about it?" Not out of the realm of possibility, no… "I mean, yeah, he did. I can still get a message to him. He should be on his way there soon."
The scent of incense was starting to die down.
"Tell everyone not to aim for anything on the periphery," said Red. "Just go for the bullseyes. It'll make sense once you're here, trust me."
"Okay."
"Kenny?"
"Yeah?"
"Turn on a light."
Before I could ask why, someone did the favor for me. The room flashed into light, and as soon as it glinted off of the lamp's golden surface, a tiny flame appeared in the lamp's spout and the walls of the room came to life with images of places I had never seen before. Every lighted surface reflected a new world, each a kind of gross impression of both lost civilizations on Earth, and the fallen city of R'lyeh.
As if the lamp were a projector ticking out an old film reel, those worlds were alive on every wall, everywhere without shadow. Crumbling buildings, ruined columns; the Spaces Between, the worlds that had not sunken as R'lyeh once had, but still existed in circles not touched by waking reality. I stood, and glanced around frantically, hoping to catch sight of Red, when I remembered her warning:
Just go for the bullseyes.
I focused on the spot directly across from the lamp's unlit spout, and that was where I saw it: the one place unlike any of the others, in that it was brand new. All around me were walls, towers, abandoned streets; I even saw the blur of a cat run by in the ruins of one of the cities projected in the room. But there, right there at the bullseye—there was a ferris wheel.
Found it.
Found her.
The projection was so real, I could have sworn I could step right through what in the back of my mind I knew was still the wall, and walk up to the ferris wheel itself. In front of the enormous red wheel, with ten gondolas swaying slowly in the wind, was a run-down looking building, like a tract house from the twenties. A stanchion next to it bore the Roman numeral IX. Attraction Nine: my ticket in.
In a flash, the images were gone, and I heard the lamp rattle. The flame went out. When I turned, I saw my sister, out of her uniform and in loose sleepwear, tying the lamp into the bag it had been delivered in.
"Karen," I said. Just—said. I couldn't be shocked, or angry, or surprised. I just acknowledged that she was there.
And she nodded. And sighed.
"Kenny," she began, "I don't want to lose you."
"How long have you been there?" I wondered.
"I saw the stuff on the walls."
"Did you hear her?"
Karen blinked at me. No. I swallowed back a strange lump in my throat.
"I don't want to lose you," she repeated. "And I mean, you don't have to do this alone. You know that, Kenny, you've always known that. Don't feel like you have to dive into something on your own."
"I'm just—I was just…"
"Nervous." She called it. "Worried."
"Karen, I'm going to find my girlfriend. And I heard her," I insisted, "I swear, I did, she's there, she's Between, she's—fuck, Karen, they have her, and—"
"And they have Cartman's mom, and they have a bunch of other people," said my sister. "And he's going in, and we're going to learn what it is we'll be up against before we dive literally into Hell, Kenny. We have to go in one at a time, yeah, but we're still doing this together."
I sighed. "I never said we weren't. Sorry if you felt like I was sneaking this."
Karen nodded.
"I'm going over to Ike's," she declared, "and I think you should call Stan and Kyle, or Clyde or someone and just, like… not be here tonight, too."
"What?" I said. "Why?"
Karen sighed. "I know you, Kenny. If you're here, you won't sleep. Look, I love living here as much as you do, but right now I wish we didn't, because as long as we live here, we're always working. And, I mean, that's fine, that's fine… but, please, Kenny, don't wear yourself out."
She had a point, of course. It had come up before, over and over really: the fact that there was no division between private life and the League for the two of us. I'd gone without sleep on missions before, feeling like I had no excuse to not be working, tracking people down or making new shuriken in Token's workshop. I 'lived' more at Red's than I did at the base, which was precisely where I would have gone that night under any other circumstance.
So I still tried to argue. "Karen, you saw those projections, too," I pointed out. "I can track Red down, I might even be able to—"
"No, Kenny," Karen insisted, grabbing my arms. She glared up at me, eyes narrowed, jaw jutting out slightly as if poised to tremble, like she wanted to cry but knew she needed to hold back. "No matter how much you look at them, you still won't be able to get into the Carnival until Friday."
"Last," I corrected her angrily. "Damien's making me go in last. I won't have any advantage in there unless I study this fucking thing."
Like a security blanket, suddenly Karen's arms enveloped me. She hugged me close, and said, "Damien may be the Devil's son, Kenny, but he's part human. Think about that. He has enough sense in him to keep Red alive and safe, and she trusts you. she loves you. So do I. So take us into account, and please, let yourself breathe. We'll find her. You're going to see her soon. But just trust me when I say that for now, the best we can do is know that our time for fighting back is coming.
"Let me watch over you once in a while, Kenny," she added, more of a command than a request. "I wouldn't be much of an Angel if you didn't listen."
– – –
I was prepared for rejection from both of Karen's suggestions for places for me to stay that night, but Kyle (despite my obviously having woken him up, judging from the tone of his voice) gladly invited me to Stan's. I was a little nervous about how quickly he'd said yes; I hadn't said a word about the lamp, but Kyle sounded eager for extra company. I knew that Stan had had his share of troubling dreams lately… maybe that was it. In that case, it was definitely the right choice for me to stay with them for the night.
On the drive through town, I kept the lamp tied tightly in its thick bag, and debated with my sister what our best plans for use of the object should be. One of my very first stipulations was that I inform Henrietta of the find, which Karen agreed with immediately. After all, Henrietta had been looking for funding to make a cross-country trip to track it down, and once we shut down the Carnival I could think of no other person I wanted to have the thing in safekeeping. Karen did advise me, though, to be careful with how many times I let the lamp be exposed to a lighted room. She knew that I'd be showing it just once to Stan and Kyle, but made her case for not wanting it out any more than it needed to be.
Just before Karen pulled into Stan's driveway, I texted Cartman the information Red had passed along to me: aim for the bullseye.
A few seconds later, his response came back: The fuck?
At least he had his phone on him. Rolling my eyes, I just dialed his number, not wanting to code my entire—already pretty heavily coded—message. He picked up with the same words: "Kenny, the fuck?"
"Look," I said, "you're going in tonight, aren't you?"
"Gotta, dude."
I held my breath. "I understand," I said, evenly. "D'you know where you're going?"
"Up the mountain, I figured."
Seriously? I groaned, and leaned forward on the dashboard. "Dude, don't tell me you're going somewhere without a fucking map or something. Jesus."
"I've got it covered."
"How?"
Cartman let out a scoff as if I'd just asked him the simplest question in the world. "I've got Ike on it, kay? He's got Stan's maps and that computer thing…"
"Computer thing?"
"The thing that came with the tickets." He paused, then said firmly, "I can do this on my own, Kenny. I can track 'em, a'ight?"
Nobody said fucking a'ight anymore, ugh. "I'm not doubting you, Cartman, I just don't want you getting lost," I stressed. "Look, keep us posted on whatever you find, and listen, I—with that lamp, I got through to Red."
"…Seriously?"
"Yes, and she said aim for the bullseyes, and that we'd get what that meant once we were in."
"How come every single chick you hang out with is cryptic as fuck?"
"Good luck to you, too."
He'd take the information in his own way, but at least he listened. When our conversation ended, I thanked my sister for the ride and said, "By the way, Cartman said something about Ike giving him that USB drive. I guess he cracked it."
Karen hummed dejectedly. "Ike can't leave his work alone for a second, either," she mumbled. "I'm not surprised."
Before I could leave, I asked, "You guys okay?"
Staring at the wheel, Karen admitted, "I have no idea. I want us to be. I think. I don't know, it's hard to tell with him sometimes. He has such a hard time unplugging, but when he does, I love being with him. It's just another case of, like… where can we divide life and work, you know?"
"Mmhmm." I rubbed my sister's shoulder, then hugged her toward me. "You'll figure it out, Karen," I told her. "I know you will. Hope you guys have a good night."
"Thanks," Karen smiled. "You too." Karen put the car into reverse, then, foot on the brakes, added, "I'll be able to tell if you don't sleep, though, Kenny. Make sure you do. Make… I don't know, make Kyle lock the lamp up or something. I know you guys're gonna talk about it, but just, like, don't use it too much."
"I won't," I promised.
My sister drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Hey," she said, "I need to tell you something Gary said to me earlier."
"What, about his brother?" I assumed, knowing Karen was still apt to ask after David now and then.
"No, Kenny, about this. He said 'belief wins battles.' I think that's something they're aware of, even in Hell. What's going to help us win this is faith. Not in God or anything like that necessarily, not in what you see in that lamp, but in what we can do."
You know, I really do have an angel for a sister.
I'd be thinking about those words for the rest of the night, and on into the countdown until we were finally granted access to the Carnival. Ever since learning, during our final conversation with our parents, that one of my Immortal rebirths had been on the same day Karen took her first breath, I'd understood that she and I had a connection I could not ignore. It was thanks to Karen that I was still alive now, and every once in a while she would say things like this that kept me going. I was faster to doubt than she was; I like having solid answers, instant proof and gratification, while Karen runs on the faith that not everything that looks unfortunate has to continue to be that way.
I thanked her before she could go, and again wished her a good night. I meant it, too. I wasn't the kind of brother to ever threaten or intimidate Karen's boyfriends, knowing that she could pretty much take care of herself and that she'd never fall into a really nasty situation, but I did have a feeling that I'd eventually be needing to have a talk with Ike. He was one of the smartest, most tactical guys I knew, but going on what Karen reported, he didn't exactly 'get' relationships in the best sense. Karen must have been sticking with him out of belief that he could make a turnaround, though, so I had to trust her.
Once I'd watched Karen drive away, I slid into the Marsh household without knocking. None of us ever really did knock anywhere but headquarters. Homes were, for the most part, pretty open.
When I walked inside, the light in the kitchen was on, and I paused for a second at the door, afraid it could have been one of Stan's parents. Kyle must have heard me come in, though, despite my shutting the door as softly as I possibly could, and appeared in the living room to flag me into the kitchen.
"What's in the bag?" he wondered, going back to the important task of rummaging the fridge that he'd been immersed in before I walked in.
"The lamp me and Henrietta have been looking for." I slid into a chair at the kitchen table, and waited for Kyle's inevitable double-take.
"Lamp," he repeated, grabbing something from the back of the fridge. Then, his shoulders tensed, he nearly whacked his head on the top of the fridge when he leaned back, then turned to stare at me. "Wait."
I held up the bag. "It's more like a slide projector than a lamp," I said. "Karen saw it, too. This thing sees the Dreamlands, and kinda illuminates them onto the wall like a movie reel."
"Dude." Kyle pulled out the chair next to me at the table, set down the bottle of water he'd pulled from the fridge, and stared at the bag. "It's in there?"
"Yeah." I moved the bag onto the table, explaining, "I lit it a little while ago. Or it kinda lit itself."
"Lit itself? What'd you see?" Kyle asked.
"All sorts of shit. Places kinda like R'lyeh—" Kyle shuddered— "and the Carnival. I could even hear and speak through it."
"Holy shit. To whom?"
"Red." I nearly choked.
Kyle's response was another astute, "Holy shit."
"I know. Where's Stan?" I wondered. "If we can all kinda talk about this…"
"Basement," Kyle said. "When I said you were coming he went down to set up the couch down there for you. Better'n possibly freaking out Sharon if you were in the living room tomorrow morning."
I managed to laugh. "I guess."
"Plus, it's the best place to talk."
Most of my friends' parents had re-finished their basements once their kids were off at college, with the exception of maybe Clyde's dad and Token's parents, who didn't exactly get into the spring cleaning thing as much as, oh, Stan and Kyle's respective mothers did. Stan's basement was one of the more comfortable ones, and definitely the most soundproof, which proved useful for us at times like this.
There was a small square coffee table down there, between the old living room sofa and the enormous TV that Randy Marsh had reportedly insisted upon owning, and a cedar chest full of blankets that Stan was currently hauling a quilt out of, to add to the pile of blankets and pillows already on the sofa. "Hey," he said when he saw us, looking so much more tired than Kyle did. "What's up?"
I held up the bag containing the lamp. "New find," I answered. "Thanks for letting me crash here. Sorry I woke you up."
"Nah, it's fine," said Stan. He chewed the corner of his bottom lip for a second before adding, "I needed to wake up anyway."
Kyle breezed past me and grabbed three large pillows from the sofa, tossed them onto the floor around the coffee table, then gave Stan's arm a light pull so that the two sat at the same time, both of them with their backs to the sofa, while the third pillow had been tossed across from them. I slowly made my way around, and set the bag on the coffee table, taking a moment to study the two across from me.
It had been a night of spiking emotion all around, from trying to work out Gary's involvement to Butters' latest League decision to the way Cartman chose to deal with his own issues. During the meeting, he'd lashed out at Kyle (nothing new, really) on the subject of his psychic ability, and as far as I could see, Kyle still looked a little put off about it.
He looked more concerned, though, than furious, and from the looks of Stan's current state, I could understand why. He looked exhausted but wasn't even yawning, wasn't forcing himself to be alert. Stan just seemed sort of half-there.
"Why?" I asked.
"Huh?"
"Why'd you 'need to wake up?'" I wondered, stressing the point that he'd brought up himself.
Stan leaned over the table a little, as if we were in grave danger of being heard, and said, "I don't know if I'm paranoid of this whole weird 'Dagon' realization or whatever, but—"
"Dude, rule out paranoia right now," I suggested.
"Ugh, I figured." He looked over the lamp bag, then leaned back again and said, "You know I have, uh… unsettling dreams."
"Right," I nodded.
"They don't really have places or shapes or whatever," Stan explained. "It's like I just know they're happening. Or, like, until tonight."
I felt my heart skip. "Why?" I had to know. "What happened tonight?"
I saw Stan mull the thought over in his head for a moment before he answered, "Tonight I knew where I was. Even though after I woke up it made absolutely zero sense. Like… you know those dreams where you're falling, and when you wake up you feel like you hit the mattress?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I felt like that, only going into it. Like I got shocked to sleep."
"Uh, that's not good," I surmised.
"No shit," Kyle put in.
"I'm fine for now," Stan assured both of us. "Trust me, I know what this kind of insanity," he went on, jabbing one index finger toward the lamp to clarify, "feels like, and this isn't it. It's more like I'm getting a sense of what to expect from the Carnival."
"But in your dream, or nightmare I guess," I said, "you know where you are?"
Sounded familiar. I had 'known' R'lyeh long before I had any truly waking experience with the place. If one of Cthulhu's ilk was stalking around in Stan's family history, it was bound to have an effect on him in due time. He was the only League member, other than me, to have returned from death—I was starting to wonder if I'd have been able to save anyone else at the time I'd saved him. Then again, nearly everyone had something tying them to the unexplained…
"Yeah," said Stan, "and I hear water. I know it's cold, but it's like I don't know why once I'm awake."
"It's pissing me off," Kyle admitted.
"Dude," Stan interrupted, sounding shocked.
"Sorry," Kyle said, "but it's true. It doesn't make sense. We're going into a volcano, or near it. We're going away from the docks. Wherever the Carnival is, it's isolated, how can there be water?"
"Because it isn't really anywhere," I realized. "Damien's merging Circles, remember?"
Shit. He could send us anywhere. He could send us anywhere accessible from the Carnival, and he was splitting us up. Inside those gates, I had to imagine that everything the lamp shone light on was a possible destination, not just that ferris wheel.
Bullseye.
"I bet we could see whatever Stan's dreaming about through this lamp."
"Not sure if I'm ready, honestly," Stan admitted.
"But I think I'm onto something," I said. "I need to show y—"
"Wait," Kyle said, laying his free hand over the bag. He scowled down… I wasn't quite sure if it was at the bag or his bandaged arm… before adding, "You said this lit itself when you took it out."
"Right."
"And it showed you a whole bunch of places."
"Right."
Kyle took a look around the room, then stood and rushed to an area of stacked, empty cardboard boxes under the stairs. "Dude, what're you doing?" Stan called over his shoulder.
"Hopefully making this easier. Hold on."
I gave Stan a look, hoping to get him to translate, but he only shrugged, laying his palms out in front of him to show he had nothing to contribute. Kyle returned a few seconds later with a small, oblong brown postal service box, thick tape ripped out to two sides like free-flowing appendages. As he sat back down, Kyle ripped off one of the four folding flaps that had been the box's top, studied the size of it, then held it down over the bag for added measurement.
"There," he said proudly, "this'll narrow the focus."
"What?" I wondered, while Stan casually slid the ripped off piece of cardboard under the sofa for someone to clean up later.
"If the whole lamp is exposed, it'll show us all those other places again," said Kyle. "If just the lighted part is exposed, that's the bullseye, right? We'd just see the Carnival, maybe even more of it."
"You're brilliant," Stan complimented, leaning up against him.
"I'm practical," Kyle corrected. Under his breath, he added, "And concerned." Before I could ask for clarification on that, he prompted, "Open up the bag, Kenny. Let's see what this thing can do."
I obliged, undoing the tie on the thick fabric, and slid the lamp out, and under Kyle's hands. He trapped the lamp beneath his box, which proved to be a little larger than the lamp itself. Kyle nudged Stan, who scrambled to find the discarded piece of cardboard under the sofa; once he had it, he held it over the opening in the box like a visor, so that only the spout was exposed. Now exposed to the pale light of the basement, the tip of the spout flickered with a flame, and the smell of its incense filled the room, this time with an added hint of sulfur.
Just as Kyle had predicted, the projections were narrowed down, and all across the wall facing the spout there was cast an image of the Carnival grounds. All three of us held our breath. I checked on Stan, out of the hope that the shock from his dreams wasn't about to manifest again in the light of the projections, but he looked more focused now than he had all day.
The ferris wheel was dead ahead, with Attraction Nine in its foreground. Now I could more clearly make out a pathway of what I thought at first was black sand, but a second thought made me realize that it was more likely coal and ash. The entire pathway was a strike away from bursting into flame. Not far off from the ferris wheel, there stood an old-fashioned carousel, fitted with saddled, sculpted horses waiting for a rider. Beyond the building in the foreground stood more tents and shacks, each connected by the curling, serpentine black walkway.
"So that's it?"
I was so transfixed, I almost didn't hear Kyle ask his question. "Yeah," I finally answered. "That's the center of the Carnival. The bullseye. That's what Red called it."
"You were right, then," Stan said. "It doesn't exactly exist anywhere real. I can pinpoint where it should be on the map, but I guess it's a good thing you've got that lamp."
"Same," Kyle agreed with a shiver, "but for now, we've gotta put this thing away."
"But—" I tried. If it was up to me, we'd keep studying the damn thing, but that was precisely the reason Karen wanted me staying with someone else that night. I'd be wrapped up in work if it meant getting a step closer… but at the same time, she was right that I'd lose sleep over it.
"No," Kyle said firmly. He carefully covered the flame, watched it go out, and slid the lamp back into its bag. "Dude, Red talked to you through the lamp?" I confirmed that she had. "Then maybe it's not a one-way projector, Kenny, have you thought of that?" Kyle scrutinized me with a worried glance, and continued, "I don't want to raise anyone's risk of being exposed to Damien and them, all right? We got rid of the Lion and Leopard tonight, let's try to not fight again till we have to."
I stared at the bag, as if a minute more with that lamp lit would solve all of my current problems, but I had to relent and agree that Kyle was right. "Good point," I admitted. "As far as I know, Damien would be wanting me keeping this out all the time."
"Exactly. Probably shouldn't even have it around in the bag…"
"We can lock it up in here," Stan offered, moving to a wooden chest (which looked like a half-finished project of either his or his father's, to be honest) at the back of the room. "I'll keep the key in my room tonight, and we'll open it up tomorrow."
"Good deal," I agreed.
I followed him to the chest, which was empty until we tucked the burlap bag inside, and Stan locked it quickly, as if the lamp would jump right out at us if he didn't. "How'd you get this, anyway?" he asked.
"Damien gave it to me," I told him.
"Well, there we fucking go," Kyle groaned, rolling his eyes. "He's been setting this whole damn thing up from the start, and—"
"It was a trade."
Kyle looked ready to strangle me. He really was on edge. "What the fuck did you trade him, dude?!" he exclaimed. "You don't make deals with the devil. Shit, Kenny—"
Before he could go ballistic, I cut in, "He gave Cartman early entrance."
"Oh, and what'd he trade for that?" Kyle scoffed.
"That was the trade."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Yes, it does. I let Cartman go in first, out of ticket order… like, he's going tonight, and Damien gave me the lamp."
Kyle did not move. He simply continued giving me an awful what were you thinking? look until Stan stood beside him and nudged his shoulder. Kyle looked down at his bandages, up at Stan, then finally over at me, blank but questioning. "And you just let him go?" he asked flatly.
"He's doing more good going in early than getting reckless in the meantime about his mom," I pointed out.
"Yeah, true," Kyle gave in. "Still, though, making a deal like that, man…"
"We'll benefit from it. Trust me," I said, even though I knew it wasn't the most reassuring thing I could have come up with.
"You think Cartman'll go for Tenorman, Damien, and Disarray all at once?" Stan wondered.
"I honestly think he'll head straight to his mother," I admitted. "I mean, I'm hoping to go right to Red before anything else."
"Understandable," Kyle sighed. "I guess we'll just have to trust him."
"Craig and I'll be in soon, anyway," Stan added. To me specifically, he asked, "You got a game plan to regroup once we're all in?"
"Honestly," I said, "I'm letting a good deal of it ride on whatever Cartman's able to report back tonight. Other'n that, I think just as long as we stay in communication and do what Red said when I spoke to her, aim for the bullseyes, we can regroup no matter what Damien's got lined up."
"Well, here's hoping we find out something good," said Stan, smiling somewhat. "Now, honestly, though, man, I'm feeling like I can use some sleep."
"I think we all could," Kyle agreed. Stan nodded to me, the, led the way upstairs as Kyle followed. His foot on the bottom stair, Kyle asked me, "You good?"
"Yeah, think so."
"'Kay. No going into that chest. I mean it."
"Got it."
"You better."
"Oh, hey, dude, p.s." I touched Kyle's shoulder before he could go, and when he turned, I asked, "You okay? About the Cartman thing. I mean the shit he said to you earlier. You've got every right to be pissed. That was fucking stupid of him."
"Well, he's pretty good at being stupid," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "And, I mean, yeah, it was jarring, what he said, and I am still mad about it, but a) I get that he's not exactly stable right now because of his mom getting, y'know, dragged off by the devil, and b) I know he's wrong. It's my own damn ability, I've just gotta keep remembering that." He bit the corner of his lip, then asked, "You really think letting him go in early was a smart move?"
"He's got his wire, and when he's motivated, he's motivated," I said. "I think it's fine. We should be getting feedback soon, I bet. You sure you're good?"
Kyle shrugged. "Won't do me much good to be angry. I stress kinda easily—" understatement of the year; sorry, dude, it's true— "but I can't let that get to me right now. You know?"
"Sure." I held out a fist, and Kyle crunched his own knuckles against it. "Thanks again for letting me crash here, man. I had to get outta my own head tonight."
"Totally get it. And don't thank me, it's not my house."
I grinned and gave Kyle a shove to get him moving up the stairs. "Same thing," I had to add. Kyle simply shook his head and held his right hand up to give me a half-assed backwards wave as he left the basement.
Only when he left did I realize how tired I was, and within seconds I'd kicked off my shoes and jeans and was settled onto the basement sofa. I glanced over at the chest containing the lamp, and let it fill my thoughts until I was on the brink of sleep.
– – –
Cartman
I totally forgot I even fucking had Ike in my phone contacts till he called me, right before I could head out of town. Since I was on duty, I ignored the phone and called him on the comm wire instead. The kid, like, always had his wire on.
"Didn't realize you were already on your way, buddy," he Canadianed at me when he got my signal. "I've got something you might need."
"Can you make it quick?" I hoped. "Where are you?"
"My house. I'll meet you out back."
I really didn't want any more diversions, but this one paid off. Ike hooked me up with his tablet, with the little USB drive sticking out the side like a clam neck. As long as I had the drive in, he said, it'd run a program that worked like a kind of metal detector.
"It's a map, sorta," he said. "I'm about ninety-five per cent convinced that we're gonna need a little help actually perceiving the Carnival. Like, it doesn't exist unless they want it to."
"Then what the hell's the point of the tickets?" I had to know.
"Well, I'm hoping we can count on you to tell us."
Sweet. I'd make good on that.
Karen was with him, and she just had to cut in and talk to me, too, but I kinda liked what she had to say—she let me know that pretty soon she'd set up with Goth chick and the Mormon guy and Iron Maiden outside where we knew the Carnival was located, so that they could help field out the people being held hostage in there. "So you have to let us know," she said, "as soon as you find your mom."
"I'm finding her tonight," I said. It wasn't a fucking challenge, I was going to find her. Oh, I'd talk to her soon enough, but fucking shit, I was getting her right out of there. And then I'd finally get to punch that grin off of Scott Tenorman's face.
– – –
It was a damn good thing Ike had given me that tablet, gotta admit. I followed the sulfur smell as far as I could, which kept me pretty much on the track of Stan's maps, so I didn't even need to use the thing until my nose started burning from the heavy smell of multiple fires. The volcano had erupted when we were kids, and I remembered the smell of lava well enough that I recognized it right away.
In less than an hour after I'd started out from town, I found myself in a dead part of the forest at the foot of the mountains. The ground turned from dirt into ash, but I didn't see anything that really screamed Carnival at me until I pulled out the tablet.
When I turned the thing on, it glowed blue, red and green, like reading a heat signature. While it was pointing at the ground, I didn't catch anything interesting, but when I held it up in front of my face, it felt like I was looking through a window. A gravel path, lined all in red, showed up on the tablet screen, but in the real world, all I could see were trees, bushes, and more fucking trees. So I held up the tablet and walked forward. I didn't look down, I didn't look to either side. Just straight forward, following the hidden path the tablet was showing me.
I shoulda run into at least ten trees or other obstacles, but I didn't.
Yep. I'd walked right fuckin' Between everything.
The path ended at a gate between two enormous but thin beams, and when the iPad screen went black, I tucked the device away and found myself standing right outside the Carnival.
"I'm here," I said into the wire.
"Marked your location, Coon," Ike said back. "Nice going. Now we've got a lock, and I can finish charting out our plan."
Heh, you're welcome, guys.
"I'm heading in."
"Good luck, Eri—Coon."
Fucking ballsack, Butters was on wire?
"Not gonna need it, Chaos," I returned.
"Keep your wire on anyway," Ike advised.
Whatever. I did, but I ended the call.
The gate was fucking huge, all wrought iron and twisted, and it stretched around in a large circle like the front gates of big old mansions. I stood at a double 'door,' marked with an arch that curled skyward with prickly points like a patch of briars. Inside the huge arch, over the doors, the words RED CARNIVAL were carved into the iron. They gleamed red when the faint light from behind the gates caught them. Behind me, I could see a burned, dead path snaking back through the woods through which I'd come. The entire ground was scorched, like I was standing on crumbling coals.
There was nowhere in the gate to insert a ticket or anything, but there was a chain that hung down from the archway, attached to a bell that hung in the curve of the word RED's 'R.' I set my right hand over my .45, and pulled the chain with my left.
"You certainly did not waste any time, little brother," Tenorman's voice crackled from somewhere. He sounded like he was speaking over a radio from the 1940s, the sound was so distorted. The speaker, I noticed, was fixed above the lefthand door. There was another on the right.
From that righthand speaker, Damien spoke: "The door will be open for ten seconds. Please present your ticket at the proper counter. Oh, and enjoy your stay."
"Like fuck," I muttered, but I didn't want to argue with gaining entrance. I'd made it this far. I wasn't about to get locked out now.
I heaved my full weight against the lefthand door, and it lurched open with a groan that almost sounded human. The ground felt harder once I'd eased inside, and while I was surveying my surroundings, the gate snapped shut behind me.
Everything was quiet for a minute. I couldn't even hear wind.
Then, I heard it: clanking—hammers on anvils. Grinding—metal gears.
And sighing, and, fainter, crying. It was coming from dead ahead.
Aim for the bullseyes. Gotcha.
At my feet, the ground seemed like it was divided up into very precise circles, exactly like a dartboard. White chalk outlines curved around and around in a spiral, and all around me, I started to see the attractions.
There was a ferris wheel off to the left, far back on the Carnival grounds, and there were canvas tents and wooden shacks, just like the carnivals I remembered seeing when I was a kid, only much more professionally installed.
I moved straight forward. There were no signs of life, no movements; just noise.
I paid very little attention to the tents and buildings, but I did notice some numbers.
A large wooden shack, in the shadow of the ferris wheel, marked IX.
A manmade cavern, hulking to the far right side, marked II.
A three-story arcade with two entrances, marked VIII.
The attractions were reachable by separate paths, clean cut by chalk lines and walkways of the charred stones underfoot.
As I was making my way toward the center, I heard a loudspeaker crackle, and looked up. At various points around me, I noticed, there were lamp posts, and speaker posts, all of the same wrought iron as the surrounding gates. The speakers fuzzed and hissed, and then faint hurdy-gurdy music began to play, and the sounds of the anvil and gears were soon drowned out.
Someone began singing over the hurdy-gurdy, and I recognized the voice almost right off: Disarray, and the song was Radiohead's "Prove Yourself."
"I can't afford to breathe in this time…"
I kept walking, and soon the path led me toward the center. This was suspiciously easy.
There were three black and red striped tents set up in the center circle, and the burning smell gave way to the smell of that frankincence shit the lamp had been giving off. I still heard people off somewhere, but fucked if I knew where the sound was coming from exactly. I only cared about one thing: I didn't hear the voice of Liane Cartman, and hers was the only one I wanted to find.
Disarray kept squaking over the loudspeaker like a proud vulture who got to the roadkill ahead of the rest of its flock, and while trying not to listen to him 'singing,' I looked at the three tents looming ahead of me. Something told me this was gonna be like that old cup-and-ball game (heheh cup balls). You know, the one where you have to figure out exactly where the thing you're looking for is, one choice in three?
I'm a guy who takes chances, though. And usually, usually, I can make something come of whatever the hell I end up picking.
I went for the center tent. It just made the most sense. Tenorman would have picked that one, and so would Damien, probably thinking that I'd assume the center one and go for right or left instead, thinking there was no way they'd be that obvious. But they were totally that obvious, they had to be.
And, okay, so:
They weren't.
But something told me, as soon as I folded back the flappy opening to the enormous tent, that no matter which one I picked, I would've been wrong.
I didn't hear my mother's voice, I didn't even get a chance to see Damien or my asshole of a relation Scott Tenorman on some high and mighty Damned Ginger throne or whatever the fuck he'd constructed outta fool's gold to sit his haughty ass down upon. I didn't see anything.
Behind the flap was a plain old door, stuck into a plain old wall.
Carved into it was a thick red X. In the center, where the lines of the numeral crossed, there was a slit opening. A sign hung to the side, reading, Insert Ticket to Enter. I slid my ticket into the slot, heard a sickly ka-CHUNK, and watched the numeral disappear from the door.
And when I opened the door, I found that there was nothing behind it.
The room I entered into was… not really there. It was blank.
I was in a room full of nothing.
I had no idea where I was.
I don't think I was anywhere.
Maybe not even Between.
I walked a few paces and shut my eyes to get away from the blinding nothing, and I heard voices.
Damien: "Swallow your pride, Eric. It's certainly ready to swallow you."
Scott Tenorman: "Nice choice, kid. Enjoy the ride."
Damien: "You lost your game, even after we gave you the upper hand. Tsk, tsk."
Disarray: "Thanks for all your help."
– – –
When I was six years old, our first grade teacher taught us about proper nouns. I only listened to one part of the lesson.
"So, teacher, I write a big I for me?" I asked her. We had to write personal journals, and we got to use any color crayon we wanted. Stan had said he wanted the red one and called dibs, but I wanted the red one, so I took it. Stan called me an asshole and took the blue one instead. Coveted red crayon in my hand, I approached the teacher's desk to ask her my question. I held up my journal, a stapled-together volume of paper, half of it lined with blue ledgers and half blank so that we could draw pictures. The only words she had told us to write were the words, My name is _. I live in _. I had filled out My name is Eric. I
The teacher smiled and told me, "Yes, Eric, very good. You put a capital I because it's all about you."
"What?"
"You use 'I' in place of your own name sometimes, so it means that you are a very important person. You use lowercase 'y-o-u' for other people, though. You have to write a capital I for yourself to show how important you are."
"Sweet."
Yes. I was very important. I was the only one who got to write a capital I, I thought. Teacher said so.
The moment she left the room was the moment that self-important little six-year-old turned to the rest of the class and said, "Teacher says I'm more important than you! You guys gotta use little 'i,' cuz she said."
"Nuh-uh," I can distinctly remember Kyle fighting me about that. "She didn't say that, you just don't listen."
"Nuh-uh," I yelled back. "Teacher says I'm more important! I get to use big 'I' and you don't!"
Makes sense, right?
I thought so then and I just kept on thinking so. I was more important than lowercase 'y-o-u.' I was more important. Me. Other people weren't as cool as me. They just didn't get it, so I had to call them out about what they did wrong. I mean, if I was most important, then clearly—clearly I was doing all the right stuff. I ate the 'right' food, I had the 'right' religion. I was always right.
I was most important. I was never wrong. No matter what decision I made, I did it because it was what was right for me and nobody else because that was the way I'd just always processed information.
All of that time I'd spent, all that energy I'd put into being the best had resulted in this. This place where I got everything I wanted.
Me.
– – –
I suddenly realized I needed to breathe.
I suddenly realized that I had been locked in.
Somewhere.
– – –
I think time passed. I couldn't tell.
For the love of fuck, I couldn't tell.
– – –
Everything was white, that really bright white, like when you're trying to fucking drive down the main street of South Park in like the middle of January and it just snowed and even though you've got your sunglasses on the Goddamn sun is still shining off the snow into your eyes being all like oh haha asshole just kidding you can't drive without me blinding you. Fucking snow.
That kind of white. The blinding kind.
Gave me a fucking headache, that's what it did. But at least I was alone.
I couldn't tell if there were any doors or anything, so for a little while I just kinda lay down in the middle of the room I'd found myself in.
Sucked, though, cuz after a while I realized I wasn't hungry. I'm fucking always hungry, this was not cool. "Kay, Scott, what the fuck?" I shouted at something that might have been the ceiling if it hadn't been fucking snow-blinding-me-like-an-asshole white. "How long you gonna keep me in here?"
No answer.
"This is lame!"
My voice didn't even echo. That was kinda disappointing.
"Scott!"
Nothing.
"Hey, Damien!" I shouted. "You wanna turn the lights down? You're a fucking devil, right? What the fuck's with a devil afraid of the dark? Heh."
Okay that joke was lame, but at least nobody was around to hear it.
…
Nobody was around to hear it.
I sat up.
"Scott, I'm seriously!" I called out. "Let me outta here!"
Wait a sec. I was wearing my wire. "Nice try, asshole!" was the next thing I called out to my pain in the ass of a half-brother. "Guess what I still got? Whole fuckin' League's gonna be here soon. How do you like that? They're gonna come for me. They… they'll come for me."
I switched on the wire. "Hey, Kenny," I said. "Kenny? Kenny, can you turn your wire up?" Nothing, not even a crackle of a response. Fine. "Ike? Come on, you've always got yours turned on. Kyle? Kyle, you fucking dick, you're like in charge of the computers and shit, turn on your fucking wire, Jewish piece of crap!"
Nothing.
I sighed. "Okay, okay, sorry about that," I said. I rolled my eyes. "I shouldn't make Jew jokes over the wire."
Nothing.
"Oh, come on!"
NOTHING.
"BUTTERS!" I was shouting now. "Butters, you always listen to me! Butters, get everyone to—"
Nothing.
"BUTTERS."
Nothing.
"Butters you stupid fucking fag you turn on your fucking wire and you listen to me right now! RIGHT NOW, BUTTERS!"
Not even a whisper.
"SCOTT THIS IS NOT FUNNY!" I screamed.
In front of me, a door creaked open.
"Fucking finally."
Keeping the wire turned on, I started walking toward the door. It didn't cast a shadow, but whatever, this big old white room was weird and too bright and shit anyway. Even the door handle was white, no wonder I hadn't seen it.
I opened the door fully, expecting to see Scott or Damien or a few of those little Ginger fucks on the other side.
What I found was another blinding snow white room.
My jaw dropped open before I could stop it.
"No…" I started to say. "Scott, you answer me!"
Still, not even an echo to keep me company.
"Butters, answer me, I know this wire's on!"
He didn't.
Scott didn't.
Damien didn't.
Nobody did.
There was nobody.
No room for anybody but me.
Capital I.
The most important person.
The only one that mattered.
What—
The—
FUCK.
– – –
– – –
Authors' Notes:
South Park is -c- Matt Stone and Trey Parker.
So sorry about the major hiatus! We reeeaally needed the time, though. Sorry for the rather short chapter, but there's a lot of stuff coming up! Thank you so much for reading! :3 My schedule is still the schedule from hell, but hopefully I'll be able to get chapter 17 up soon. Thanks so much for sticking with this story, and for the wonderful feedback~ ^^ I'm excited to finally be at the Carnival…! Chapter 17 will also feature a narrator we haven't heard from before now…
See you soon!
~Jizena, and Rosie Denn
– – –
