Yes, I know this is terribly overdue. I'm sorry but I'm also lazy...Enjoy.

There was an ungodly wailing resonant across the vicinity of Pines Vale, emanating from number 2605: the Broflovski household. True, her son had just been reported missing, yet Stan couldn't help but think Sheila Broflovski was being a tad over-dramatic. The matriarch sat on her sofa surrounded by wadded up tissues and photographs of her eldest son. Stan's own mother perched by her side diligently, passing tissues every so often. Stan noted how Mrs Broflovski's make-up was immaculate for someone who was playing inconsolable mother.

"Gerald's out with the police right now, going through Kyle's house in Denver for clues. I had to laugh Sharon, what are they expecting to find when we didn't even know he was in the state! That boy is so frustrating, the last we heard he was still in Massachusetts! And now…"
"Oh Sheila." Was all Sharon offered, whereupon the other woman commenced wailing again. Stan caught his mother's eye and looked away. He scoffed at Mrs Broflovski's performance but he too felt snubbed. All this time his best friend had been in the city and he'd never known. How long for? Stan had called Kyle's Boston number only two weeks ago and instead of hanging up on the answering machine as he usually did, Stan plucked up the courage to leave a bumbling message. His cheeks stung at the memory; he felt so stupid right now. Rather than stand around looking dumb Stan made his way upstairs for the first time in seven years. But rather than bursting in to Kyle's room as he used to he walked to the other end of the hall and cleared his throat in the open doorway, prompting Ike Broflovski to look up from his book.

Seventeen and stocky, Ike stood at just under Stan's shoulder and while Sheila was convinced that he would grow more, Stan didn't agree.
"Stan!" Ike answered in a tone more of warmth than surprise. Stan smiled and felt as though nothing at all were wrong.
"Hey little brother." He greeted the younger boy. Despite Ike's adoption being a very open fact, there was a running joke that Ike looked far more like Stan's little brother than he ever did Kyle's.
"Is it still the mourning of Christ down there?" Ike asked.
"Can't you hear your ma shrieking? 'Taken from us yada yada', she's written Kyle off already." Stan sat on the computer chair across from Ike's bed.
"I've developed selective hearing over the years." Ike answered bluntly. "Anyway she has a dozen frozen casseroles in the basement though, so a wake would clear out some space." They shared a small laugh even though it was evident they both recognised the gravitas of the situation.

"To be honest, I had no idea Kyle was in Denver. I'm a little…bummed he didn't call." Stan admitted before reaching to fiddle with a rubber band on Ike's desk to hide his self-consciousness.
"He'd only been there for two weeks, he was keeping it on the quiet as he didn't want Sheila knowing he was so close while he settled. She's a relentless vacuum you know?" Ike put his book aside and Stan nodded.

"I'm familiar with your mother Ike. Even so…"

"Stan, Kyle's a dick. The only reason he calls me is if he ever needs anything he left in his room. I must have spent over a hundred dollars in allowance over the past two years mailing him shit." Ike shrugged. "Only reason I haven't cut him off is, well, you do for family."

"I'd mail stuff to him." Stan offered and instantly felt pathetic, returning to the rubber band. Ike seemed to catch on and smiled weakly.

"It's a lot less inconspicuous if his brother is sneaking around his room."

"Yeah." Stan cleared his throat and tried to hide his blush. "I meant more let me pay. I have a full time job and you're still in school. He shouldn't have his kid brother throw money away because he's hiding from your mom." He forced a grin. "I mean, someday a girl is gonna' let you take her out maybe, and you'll need the cash."

"I touched Emmy Tobolsky's boob at the Fall dance." Ike said so matter of factly that Stan burst out laughing.

"You're going far buddy." He said before standing up. "I gotta' go, but anytime you need anything, small, big, stupid, you call me okay?"

"Affirmative."

Something that perturbed Stan was how easily life went on after that week. It was as if Kyle had never come back in to their lives which technically he hadn't but it was a situation that Stan thought might have changed something. Yet when days turned to weeks and there was still no news of Kyle, everybody began slipping back in to their old ways. Due to lack of suspicious evidence the police stopped poking around the Broflovski household and as far as Stan knew they had stopped rifling through his Denver abode too. They departed town telling Mrs Broflovski they would 'be in touch when they had news', which Stan knew from his own line of work was just a line to keep people pacified. They would close the lid on Kyle's case until anything new might present itself, which Stan also knew might never happen. There was a folder in Stan's office that had begun in 1953 with the then P.I of Park County, that was full of such unsolved cases. Duke J. Grover for instance, went fur-trapping in 1954 toward North Park and never returned. Iris Costello left her home off of Salter Drive in 1967 to go grocery shopping and disappeared somewhere between Stark's Pond and Park Library, not even close to the Piggly Wiggly. Stan hated the thought that Kyle was just a name in a folder somewhere, an Amelia Earhart figure.

Instead Stan tried to make sense of what had come over him in his parent's living room that day. Why had he wanted to say Cartman's name? The fat-ass was no more distant than any of their other long-gone peers. In fact he came back every Thanksgiving to see his mother and dropped in on Stan whether the latter man liked it or not, regaling him with stories about his supposed success and presenting him and Heidi with hideously tacky gifts such as gold plated hub caps or gold flecked vodka. Gold seemed to be a recurrent theme. Stan had never liked Cartman that greatly yet neither had he abhorred him as Kyle had, he just plain tolerated him. The four of them used to hot-box the fat-ass' garage whenever his mom went out of town with strange men –a regular occurrence- and they would all ramble on for hours offering their personal philosophies on life. Yet sitting with Cartman on November nights, the remaining two of their childhood group, bored Stan infinitely. Yes, Cartman and Kyle were bitter enemies throughout their childhood but even then there had been occasional glitches in the continuum wherein they had silently called truce for the sake of the group or even just some peace and quiet. This had only intensified with age, by eighteen Kyle and Cartman barely acknowledged the other's existence; not that Kyle really acknowledged anybody when he was so caught up in his studies. No, Cartman's name to mind was only Stan struggling to separate the past and the future again; he was only bitter than his former friends were successful and aloof or even dead.

Late October Stan was leaving the Three Pines diner and commencing his usual post-lunch pat-down, wherein he would frisk himself to check he hadn't left his car keys under the remnants of his lunch as he was often prone to doing. He triumphantly pulled them from the breast pocket of his gilet and whistled as he made his way to his car. He had a stomach full of pancakes and a new case to mull over back at the office, something exciting too about a stolen trust-fund; today was a good day. The midday sun radiated beams across the parking lot and they bounced from gleaming bumper to bumper, and with the dazzling lights everywhere Stan barely acknowledged the hooded figure practically marching down the sidewalk. It was the rigid, determined walk that caught his attention. Shoulders pushed forward, fists clenched tightly, Kyle was renowned for his comically militant walk. His mother had despised it and just as Kyle had grown out of it…Ike had grown in to it. Stan held his hand above his brow to deflect the sun's rays and affirm it was the youngster. Wasn't he supposed to be in school? There was at least an hour or so left, he was well aware its curriculum hadn't changed a bit since he had graduated. Scratching his head sheepishly Stan decided he had to play adult at least a little bit and crossed the lot toward the side-walk, catching Ike just as he crossed the entrance.

"Hey little brother." Ike jumped as Stan's voice cut through his trance.

"Stan." He said plaintively, sounding somewhat annoyed he had run in to a familiar face.

"Not to sound too much like your mother, but shouldn't you be in school?"

"Dentist." Ike bit back. "Doctor Lewinski likes to keep checking my overbite is still corrected."

"Well he knows best." Stan murmured, taking the bait for now. "Do you want a ride?"

"I'll be ok, the longer I'm away from calculus the better. Thanks though."

"Alright." The two then glanced at each other awkwardly, both knowing Ike's excuse was embarrassingly feeble but Stan had more or less accepted it and couldn't turn back now, not if the latter wanted to maintain Ike's trust.

"Well I better get back to work." Stan offered so they could part ways.

"Bye Stan, see you real soon." Ike said. He continued down the sidewalk at a steady pace, his march having disappeared alongside his reverie. Stan clenched his hands in to fists and then flexed them. He felt weird. As he climbed in to his truck he sat momentarily and gazed out at the now overcast sky. Sunshine never did last too long in these parts. As the clouds closed over the parking lot Stan felt his mind fog up in a similar fashion. He knew Ike was lying and as much as he wanted to play it cool the little dude was all Stan had left of Kyle and vice versa for Ike; Stan was his surrogate big brother now whether Ike liked it or not and with that territory came responsibility. Suddenly Stan found himself flipping the key in the engine and flooring the gas however as he hadn't let his engine warm up the car choked, stalled and died. Thank God Heidi hadn't been in the car to dispense a deserving 'I told you so'. Stan let out a groan to rival Sheila Broflovski's melodramatic wails and re-started the engine. Those five minutes spent waiting for the engine to come to life were at that moment the longest of his life but eventually the truck began to purr and Stan eased it out on to the main road before picking up speed in Ike's direction. Despite the delay in getting going Stan was surprised he hadn't caught up to Ike within another five minutes as the main road outside the diner was straighter than a ruler and stretched all the way to central town; if Ike was really going to the dentist Stan would be able to spot him miles ahead.

"Where are you dude?" Stan muttered to himself as he scanned the sidewalk, the gas station and even the lumber-yard as he passed by on the off chance Ike was headed there, but no luck. "Dentist my ass you little liar."

Had he been another minute behind on the road Stan would have missed him but his scrutiny, his frustration at being duped again, was so intense that even Ike's black hoodie was useless against the dark foliage as Stan only just glimpsed the youngster slip off the roadside and in to the surrounding forest. Stan slowed down, ignoring the angry car horns that blared from behind and the violent yells of drivers bypassing him. He had to follow Ike, however he couldn't just leave his truck in the middle of the road like this. Stan seethed knowing that the longer he sat deliberating the further Ike was getting from him and succeeding in eluding him. Yet as another car screeched past him by inches, a cacophony of curse words and more horns following suit, Stan knew for now he had to give up the chase. Not for long of course. Stan would be damned, bent over a table by Satan himself if he let anymore Broflovskis pull another fast one on him.

And so the next day Stan lay in wait. Except Ike didn't show. So he went the next day. Ike didn't show then either. For the rest of the week Stan spent his lunch hour parked in a leafy lay-by with his eyes locked on the spot. It was only on the Friday when Stan began to wonder if this wasn't very sad, a grown man stalking a seventeen year old whether he knew him or not, and just before he resolved to give up and dismiss the whole incident as Ike playing hooky in the forest- the boy materialized before him. Stan sat up, the family sized packet of chips he had at lunch falling on to the floor of the cab. He watched Ike follow the same pattern as last week, marching down the side of the road before ever so casually slipping in to the forest shadows. Stan leapt out of his car and fumbled with his keys as he struggled to lock the doors as quickly as possible. He clambered over the road-side barrier and in to the forest after Ike. Only Stan was barely a few yards in when darkness overcame him, the gigantic pine trees South Park was renowned for were blocking out any light. Stan advanced cautiously only to be rebuffed by the thick trunk of a tree which knocked him back. He didn't understand. How on Earth was Ike finding his way in here? A flash-light surely, Stan deduced before congratulating himself in a way for always carrying a miniature one on his key-chain, in-case his car ever broke down at night. Yet when Stan turned on his trusty flash-light the beams struggled to reach more than a few feet in front of him. Ike must have a big, industrial flash-light from somewhere, even though Stan couldn't discern any trace of light anywhere around him. Shit, had he already lost the kid? He pressed forward using the crappy light to weave in between the pines and avoid another body-slamming. Despite the diner dinners and lack of perpetrator chases he'd always imagined he'd be doing, Stan had for now managed to maintain his high-school physique, something he'd been quietly proud of until learning how futile it was out here when he was being eluded by a teenager.

After five minutes of this exhausting exercise Stan eventually was pushed out in to an open meadow, which judging from the position of the mountain peaks he recognised, was deep in Parkian wilderness. The sound of silence was stunning. Stan had never been here before in his life, this wasn't established camping territory or even a public footpath, it was pure unchartered wilderness that the Park County council just left well alone. What the hell was Ike doing out here? For despite his lengthy fox-trot with the foliage, Stan had kept up enough to glimpse the back of Ike's hoody disappearing in to more trees on the other side. Stan let out an aged groan for he was reluctant to admit but he was too old for this. As he tracked the youngster what looked like a footpath was gradually emerging on the ground, very faint and definitely not intentional but rather the grass had died and any regrowth stunted as a result of frequent footfall; was it Ike's? The pines began to thin out as Stan wandered in to a clearing. He frowned and even blinked to affirm what he was seeing, that deep in the middle of nowhere in the middle of South Park which was already in the middle of nowhere, there was a log cabin in front of him. Stan couldn't for the life of him ever remember hearing about a cabin this far off-track and he would have dismissed it as an old pioneer cabin, someone who lived in the wilderness and only came to South Park for supplies, but it was far too modern. Stan was a novice at restoration jobs having worked one summer at Merv Testaburger's carpentry store; he might have been trying to please Wendy by helping her uncle but working with parts that could be assembled just worked for Stan. Physical bits and pieces that could slot together or be welded made far more sense to him than the hypothetical math or science equations that preoccupied Wendy and Kyle, those to whom he was closest. It was this brief knowledge that made him almost certain that the wood used to build the cabin couldn't be older than the 1970s, but who the hell had built it? Stan even –for a brief moment- wondered if this was Merv's secret hideout, his insatiable appetite for women was a constant bone of contention for the conservative Testaburger family. Was it a not-so-secret-but-still-quite-a-secret spot for the young Parkians of Ike's generation? If Stan were to go bursting in now in his pursuit of Ike would he find all along this was the only place Ike could hide from his formidable mother to finally get past second-base? Ike was seventeen after all. No, Stan couldn't believe that there wasn't a pool-house, a basement-room, the back seat of a crappy first car somewhere in town to fool-around in private rather than hiking to a cabin in the Colorado wilderness. It was this that pressed Stan forward, to force his way in to the cabin without knocking because neither did he believe anyone actually lived there. Inside there was a deafening silence throughout the cabin that proved it to be empty, and yet the discarded Cheetos bags scattered, the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered, pans on a rusty stove in the corner, they were undeniable signs that pointed to it being inhabited.

In his internalised police drama, this would be the part where Officer Marsh would wisely back track and call for back up. Except Stan wasn't an officer, he was a P.I and his superiors thought his division was laughable. If he called anyone out there now he would never hear the end of it, P.I Marsh had to go it alone, a lone wolf, solo, Han Solo. Stan instinctively reached for the hand-gun under his jacket that he had been grudgingly permitted to carry by Sargent Chbosky. He waded through the crap on the floor and checked the back room of the cabin. There was a double bed with a sagging mattress and strewn bedsheets and moth-bitten plaid curtains semi-closed and no apparent toilet in sight. The place was a hole but somebody had definitely, or still did, live here. If it wasn't Ike, then who was he visiting? Kyle? If nobody but Ike had known he was back in the state then the two brothers could easily hide the elder out here, but why? Stan's head was clouded with questions and felt fogged down; he was simultaneously angry and sad. As Stan backed out of the cabin he made a quick note of the maps pinned up on one of the walls in the main room. It chartered the rocky wilderness surrounding South Park and scattered across it were little red pins that glowered at Stan tauntingly. What did they signify? Stan would find the same map in the police department and pour over it tonight, there were only so many possibilities so surely he should be able to deduce something, right? He sighed and returned the handgun to its holster. It was time to go home. Stan Marsh had once again been eluded. On his way out of the cabin something shiny gleamed in the corner that attracted his attention. On further inspection Stan realised it was a thick chunk of silver hair, sleek, shiny and bizarrely heavy, held together with a piece of twine. His better judgement told him not to disturb anything but Stan ignored it and tucked the hair in to his pocket as evidence. Of what he didn't really know.

The sky outside had begun to fade, marble greys swirling into indigo haze. Fucking beautiful, he thought bitterly. Stan decided he'd better high-tail it home. It was Halloween and he usually felt incredibly smug about this day because it was the only time a year he could rub his job role in the Sargent's face, that Stan, being a P.I and not a 'real' cop, didn't have to join the rest of them in chasing delinquent teens all over town and breaking up rowdy parties like the rest of them. However Heidi fucking loved Halloween, having all her students turn up on their doorstep and chorus: 'TRICK OR TREAT MISS TURNER' and eye-balling him curiously while Heidi dispensed full-sized Hershey bars to each and every one of them. Out of Stan's money of course, but that wouldn't stop her sighing at him: "Can't you smile or something Stan? My students think I live with the bogey-man."
"It's freaking Halloween!" Stan would rebuke. "If they're happy we've done a terrible job. Besides they've got thirty dollars' worth of candy tonight I can look at them however."

It wasn't until he was back on the other side of the clearing, power walking toward his car, that Stan noticed how silent it was where the noise should have picked back up. It was getting on five when the road Stan came in on usually had a quiet lull, but it wasn't that which perturbed Stan. It was the bubble of silence in the forest alongside him, no birds, no squirrels, not even the sound of wind. The hair on Stan's neck stood on end and a chill ran down his spine and yet he didn't think anything of it. It was Halloween and he was alone in the wilderness, it was nothing. As he pressed on an exceedingly strange beat began to echo behind him. It was so dulled that for a moment he wondered if it were only his own heartbeat he was hearing in the tight silence. He paused, listening to his heart thud before the noise, undoubtedly separate from his body, resonated again, guttural and gaining on him. Stan had had a pretty shitty week, he really couldn't be bothered with being stalked by a fucking mountain lion right now but then what lion made that noise? It sounded like a giant frog. He distracted himself for a moment thinking about the comical obituary in the paper: 'He died froggishly' when the noise commenced some sort of crescendo, now reminding him of the heartbeat echo of an ultrasound amplified in to a tiny room. A giant baby seemed like the nicest possibility. Whatever giant thing was following him, it was well-hidden when Stan turned to cautiously survey the forest behind him. He scanned the pines quickly, trying to deduce if it could be using any of the trunks for cover. There was nothing but a descending grey fog as the temperature dropped along with the sunlight. He should quicken his pace while he could just about see, Stan decided. When he turned back to his original course, Stan froze. Towering over him at at least thirteen feet, was the ugliest creature Stan had ever seen in his life.

He realized now why he hadn't spotted it, for although it was hunchbacked its body was made of bark that mirrored the patterns on the surrounding tree trunks, with huge knotted branches for arms and hollow white eyes that were nestled in the centre of the trunk. The creature breathed heavily now it had revealed itself and slowly, with a horrible scraping sound, claws began to emerge from its trunked hands. A lower jaw of white teeth unfurled and protruded forward and Stan instinctively reached for his gun. He fired a shot at the trunk of the creature presuming it to be the chest area, but the bullet ricocheted from the impenetrable body, causing Stan to dive to the floor. Shit. Shitshitshit. The creature quite fairly took this as an act of aggression and raised one trunk arm with a guttural snarl, and swung it toward Stan. He pushed himself and rolled downhill back in to the forest out of range, cursing that he was being forced further away from the main road. Curiosity killed the cat and now Stan was going to be flattened by his. As soon as he was stationary Stan jumped up, ready to run, but his height only gave the creature a less steep swing as it made another attempt, clearly intending to bludgeon him to death. He dove back to the ground. Maybe he could roll all the way back to the clearing. It was yet to be determined how quick the creature was on its feet but Stan first had to get far enough out of its swing range. Stan glanced up at the creature to study its intentions. It stared down at him with the blank white eyes and opened its mouth wide, a high-pitched screech flew out and paralyzed Stan with its painful resonance as he desperately put his hands over his ears. Above the din a gunshot cracked and all Stan saw was a bullet soar in to the throat of the creature before the screech was cut and the creature wavered, and collapsed. The silence returned and Stan's ears rung painfully as he let go of them to stare at the slumped creature and determine it was definitely immobile if not dead. When he was assuaged Stan hesitantly turned in the direction of the gun shot. He was more surprised than when he had first come upon the creature, for standing a few feet away from him, holding a shotgun, was Herbert Garrison.

"Well I wasn't expecting him to go down that easy." Was all he said, walking past Stan to examine the creature. Stan was speechless. He suddenly noticed Mr Hatt was propped up on Garrison's shoulder with a gas-lamp for light.
"What should we do with him?" Garrison asked aloud. Stan stammered:
"I-well, shit. I guess, I guess uh- we report this to the county rangers?"
Mr Garrison turned in surprise like he hadn't expected Stan to answer. He said nothing, he didn't have time to, for Mr Hatt on Garrison's shoulder suddenly moved of his own accord, sneered, and said,
"Are you retarded, son?"

I swear I won't take a year to update again. Maybe.