12. The Helpless Boy Will Call For Help

"Butters?... Butters!?... Shit!"

Tweek was practically on overload. All he wanted to do was flee. Run. Scamper. Shake. Instead, he was restrained to a chair. His arms, leg and torso bound. The inability to shake out his nervousness felt like a pressure growing inside him. He could explode.

The location was familiar: the basement of his parents' coffee shop. Even with the lights as low as they were in the room, he could recognize familiar sights. The bags of coffee beans, empty shipping crates, an industrial-sized coffee grinder, and the huge metal console that showed up down here awhile ago.

Funny, he had completely forgotten about the metal console with the glowing lights.

What he hadn't forgotten was Butters. The innocent boy was also bound to a chair, but unlike Tweek, Butters looked to be asleep. Or unconscious.

Or dead.

Jesus! Shit! He's dead! Butters is dead! Shit! And it was all his fault!

Butters had stopped by on his way to school. Apparently his parents grounded him from riding the bus after coming home so late. Tweek wasn't sure that made sense.

Wait, did he breathe!? Tweek could swear he saw Butters breathe. Maybe Butters isn't dead! Oh shit, oh fuck, Tweek needs to call for help!

But no one is home. Tweek's parents were gone for a month at a coffee-making convention. It had totally come up out of the blue. Tweek thought that was absolutely stupid, and had no idea why his parents would run off so quickly. When he asked them about it, they didn't seem to have a good answer either.

Gyah! None of that matters!

Tweek couldn't focus on anything. Random thoughts kept coming and going from his mind. He was no longer in control of his own brain.

And then something moved in the shadowed corner of the room. And suddenly, Tweek could focus. He could focus on the figure coming towards him.

"Tweek Tweak. The boy thrashing for help from what he can't remember," said the figure. It's voice like a loud, boiling whisper.

"Wha...what do you wa... Gyah!" As the figure emerged from the shadows, Tweek could see more detail. A round, gray head with ridges forming around it's sunken, small eyes. It's face covered almost like a mask. A small indenture where there should be a nose. And a mouth that didn't seem to open.

"Christ!" was all Tweek could manage.

"Tweek Tweak, this is not the first time you have seen us. We have been here many years."

Tweek shook his head. "That can't.. gyah.. can't be true. I would have remembered... aliens! Shit!"

The creature tilted its head towards Tweek, speaking to him in the third person. "An absent, forgetful mind has created a perpetually helpless, paranoid child." The creature then leaned towards Tweek. It got close enough that he could smell its scent; a mixture of oil and sweat.

Then the creature put something in Tweek's right hand. Tweek recognized it. It was his phone. No, wait, it wasn't his, it didn't feel quite right. It must be Butters'!

"The helpless boy will call for help." Said the creature, before retreating back to the shadows.

"Help! Aliens!" he typed and sent to whoever Butters had been texting before.

Tweek's whole head twitched like a shiver, he blinked, the phone fell from his hand. And then Tweek had no recollection of what he was doing tied to this chair in the coffee shop basement. That metal console sitting in the middle of the room is weird though. He wondered what his parents were doing with it.

Oh shit! Butters is dead! Jesus! Tweek's mind raced, as he was sent into another panic-filled meltdown. The first he'd had all day, to his recollection.

AN: I'm not dead! Sorry for leaving this story for dead. Life really hit hard in the last year, just one fire after another to put out. Hopefully things can go more smoothly for me, and I can spend time chipping away at this story for you guys :)