3. "What's a Police Box?"
"No dude… it's that Al Gore guy again. He called me and said ManBearPig was back." Stan Marsh was sitting at the foot of his bed talking on his phone, his voice lethargic. At the mention of Al Gore's name, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "He said it was, 'super serial' that I come out with him tonight and help him look." As he quoted Gore, his voice partly took on the Vice President's inflection for sarcastic affect.
"Yeah, but he's crazy. Why should we even help him? He almost killed us last time we saw him, in case you forgot," said the voice on the other end of the line, punching with staccato anger. Kyle could hold a grudge, Stan already knew that. But it seemed like years since Al Gore had almost killed them, and even after that huge calamity, no one took him seriously.
"I don't know Kyle, I mean, no one takes him seriously. I feel bad. He's got no friends and no credibility. Would it kill us to make him feel a little better?"
"Yes Stan, it would. It almost did last time." Kyle's voice was slow, patronizing. As if punctuated with an unspoken, 'well, duh.'
"Look, Kenny and Butters are already coming. We both know if I go, you're going. So let's skip the argument and just agree to meet me there." There was silence over the phone for a few seconds. Then the reply, carrying a slight bit of hopelessness inside its usual angry tone.
"Fine. Where and when?"
"Stark's Pond at 7 pm. Thanks."
"Yeah," it was a sharp reply, but Stan knew Kyle didn't mean it as bitterly as it sounded. That was just how he came off sometimes.
Stan arrived at Stark's Pond fifteen minutes late. His Mom wouldn't stop pestering with questions about where he was going and who he was with.
As Stan walked up, Kyle was waiting, looking slightly miffed. Kyle was fairly punctual, but Stan on the other hand, not as much. Stan gave him a smile, hoping that would suffice as apology, and it seemed to.
"Where's everyone?" Stan said as he walked up to Kyle, sitting alone on the bench overlooking the placid pond.
"Gore told us to split up. He said he thought he saw a glimpse of it walking up, and ran off into the woods that way shouting, 'Excelsior,'" Kyle pointed with a green mitten toward the forest. "Kenny and Butters teamed up and went that way, and Al Gore told me to stay and wait for you and then go that way," Kyle pointed in nearly the opposite direction of the area.
"Oh. Kay," Stan said, starting to walk off, shoes crunching in the snow. Kyle hopped off the bench and joined him, pulling out a flashlight from his jacket pocket.
"You know there's no such thing as a ManBearPig, right Stan? I mean, supernatural magic stuff like that doesn't exist."
"Well, yeah, there's no such thing as a ManBearPig, I know. But still, it won't kill us to look around and make him fe-" Stan's speech was interrupted by a familiar shouting from the woods. It was Al Gore, using his ManBearPig call, which was just him shouting, "groan," to try and lure out the mythical beast. Stan looked back at Kyle. "You're right, this is totally stupid. Sorry."
"It's… fine. I wasn't doing anything tonight anyway," Kyle replied, his voice softening. It was a lie though; Kyle had been writing an extra-credit paper for Garrison's 4th Grade class. He worked through dinner on it, forgoing food. It was a stupid topic anyway; a 3 page essay on why the upcoming elections were rigged by white men to keep women down. It sucked for the class that Garrison hadn't left his gender inferiority complex behind when he got a second gender change. But Kyle couldn't bring himself to tell Stan that he was an inconvenience, especially since, while it was stupid, Stan was trying to be a nice guy to a stranger.
They continued walking along the shore of Stark's Pond, a fraction of attention looking around for something, but mostly, just walking in silence. Kyle wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to stay warm, causing the flashlight to point mostly away from the boys' path. But since they weren't looking anyway, it hardly mattered.
Stan couldn't help but feel bad for Kyle, the poor kid rarely ever said no to Stan. Of course, Stan was guilty of the same thing. They were super best friends, and to Stan, it made sense that they rarely fought with each other.
As Stan contemplated their friendship, Kyle contemplated Al Gore. How stupid was this loser of a former politician that he had no friends to go out looking for some made up monster with him? Who would believe in a ManBearPig anyway? Of all the stupid things the grown ups do, hunting for a ManBearPig has got to be the dumbest. Why was he still out here? Kyle was thinking about just telling Stan he was leaving, when Stan put his hand against Kyle's chest.
"Wait dude, stop," Stan said in a hushed tone, implying that he was listening for something. As both boys stood still, Kyle could now hear it too. A mechanical scraping sound, like someone pushing rusty pipes together.
"What the hell is that?" Kyle asked softly, more breath than voice, as it fogged into the Colorado night.
Before Stan could reply, there was a thud of something impacting the ground. Everything was still for a moment before a scream punched the air. Both boys recognized it immediately.
It was Butters.
They sprinted toward the sound of the scream, flashlight searching in front of them for any sign of their incredibly innocent friend. Finally he showed up in the light beam. He almost ran by them in panic though. Stan grabbed him before he could get further.
"Butters! Butters! Butters! What is it?" Stan inventoried his face, and the sheer panic on the naïve face wasn't an uncommon expression for Butters to wear.
"It's… It's Kenny! There was this blue…box, oh gosh!" was Butters' choked out reply before jerking his way out of Stan's grasp and fleeing back towards home.
Stan and Kyle exchanged worried glances before resuming their pace deeper into the woods. Whatever had happened, it sounded like Kenny had gotten the worst of it. With each fall of Stan's feet, a pang of guilt shot through his chest. Whatever caused Butter's panic, whatever happened to Kenny, it was his fault. He was the one who let Al Gore talk him into coming back out here. Kyle was right.
After a few seconds of running, they heard a voice. The boys slowed their pace instinctively to a walk, to examine the voice and situation more closely before entering the fray. It was a new voice. Not Kenny, not Al Gore. Someone else.
"British," Kyle said between deep inhales of air. Both boys were in a sweat, either from the dash, or in fear.
"Yeah…" was all Stan could say.
As the boys topped a small hill, they saw the scene. A silhouette of a man pacing alongside a large blue box.
"It says… Police Box. What's a Police Box?" Kyle asked, trying to analyze the situation.
Stan was listening to the words from the man though.
"…I don't even know who he was and you killed him!" He heard the British voice say. Stan was pure reaction. He grabbed Kyle and yanked him down the hill toward the man and the blue box. Stan knew this was bad. Was Kenny dead? Is that what he heard? No way he's dead.
Kyle stumbled forward, and slid partially down the hill, but caught himself before completely tumbling with a stiffened leg and fell in line right behind Stan. Kyle noticed the man disappear into the box with a slam of the door before they reached the bottom of the hill.
Kyle was looking over the box, which is why Stan saw him first, his orange parka giving away his location.
"Kenny… no!" Stan gasped, his voice strained and unbelieving as he fell to his knees. Kyle arrived to Stan's side a second later, his only reaction to put his hand on Stan's shoulder, both in support of Stan and to keep himself from falling over from the weak feeling suddenly in his knees.
There he was, one of their oldest and best friends, trapped under this blue box. His hand outstretched, reaching for safety that never came. His eyes closed, his face hidden under his hood.
They stayed like that stunned for what seemed like an eternity. After Stan fully realized the situation, his body tensed. His hands balled into fists. He was keeping himself from crying, but only barely. He stood up quickly and did the only thing he could think to do: he began banging on the door of the box in desperation.
"Oh my God! You killed Kenny!" Stan shouted, his voice carrying his emotions.
Hearing Stan so hurt and vulnerable, so sad and unhinged, made Kyle put aside his sadness, and pure anger flashed over him when he heard Stan's broken voice. Kyle joined Stan in banging on the door.
"You Bastard!"
The boys kept pounding on the door. Stan out of futility. He had to do something, he couldn't break down and cry about this right now. He felt he had to figure it out. Kyle was pure anger, he would break down this damn door if the bastard didn't show his face.
And then he did.
The door swung inwardly open and both boys, the momentum from their banging fists now working against them, throwing them forward and into the blue box. Kyle was first on his feet, and he pointed a mitted finger up at the man standing there, inches from them, the door handle still in his hand. Kyle wasn't even looking at him, or at the room he was in. His seething anger just forcing him into uncontrollable rage.
"Who the fuck do you think you are and why did you just kill our friend! How did you do it! Did you push this on him? What the fuck. I'll kill you, you Bastard!
Stan was slightly more composed. The adrenaline was making his emotions subside, rather than overwhelm. Something was way off about everything. First the man, a young man in an ugly looking suit and a ridiculous red bowtie. Something about the way he stood seemed off too. The expression on his face looked puzzled, as if he had no idea of their dead friend outside the door of the room,
And that was the other thing that was off. They were standing in the doorway of a gigantic, bright, bronze room. Stan couldn't see much beyond the man, but the scale was way off. On the outside, it was a small box, big enough to just stand in. On the inside, it was a huge room.
Kyle continued to rant, but Stan just put his hand on his shoulder to settle him. Kyle stopped ranting, and turned toward the touch. He looked incredulously at Stan, having to soften his glare before he lasered a hole through his best friend's head.
"What!?" even after taking a second to relax, Kyle was still furious, and his voice showed it.
"Dude," was all Stan could manage to say. He pointed with his red mitten toward the scene in front of them. Kyle took it all in and staggered back a half step. His face still had an expression of anger, but suddenly, he had forgotten why. Everything that happened before was wiped away from his memory, replaced with the wonder of what he was staring at. A room impossibly big.
"Holy shit dude… It's… bigger on the inside," Kyle managed, disbelievingly. With this, the man broke into a smile.
"Hello." He said, clearly the owner of the British voice. "I'm the Doctor."