"This little mountain town's been shaken by the news of the murder of Stephen and Linda Stotch. It happened around lunch time, in such a beautiful day that it is hard to believe that something so gruesome happened. Nobody heard a thing, nobody saw anything. No one, not even the police, knows what to think. There are so many elements that simply don't connect: the son is missing; no money or any valuable object has been stolen; it was impossible to determine the weapon used to kill the victims; the entrances to the house hadn't been forced. The police, as soon as the Stotches left the morgue to be buried, started arresting suspects, all of them Latin and black citizens, performed intense interrogations, sometimes going too far but it did not seem to help the investigation. As I said, nobody saw a thing.

Since there's no news about the whereabouts of Leopold Stotch, the South Parkers have made their own hypotheses. People like to talk and fill the gaps. Some say those robbers killed the parents and trafficked with his young, healthy organs. Others are sure that he has been kidnapped and soon the family—if there is someone left—will get blackmail.

Very little people here think that perhaps Butters had something to do with his parent's homicide. How could such a nice boy do something so horrible? No, not him. Impossible. He adored his parents. It was mean to merely suspect of him.

But we knew it. From the very moment we knew what had happened, we understood that Butters had killed his parents. He did have powers too and the first thing he did with them was killing his mother and father. Most wanted to believe that it was an accident, but I don't think so. I knew Mr. Stotch. He was one big douchebag. Of course, if Butters had actual powers, he would make him pay for all the unfair groundings and humilliations.

We decided to devote ourselves to find him and try to help him. Honestly? I don't think he needs or even wants help. That guy must be a freaking walking bomb right now, ready to explode in the face of those who touch the wrong buttons. The gang doesn't want to admit it but they are scared. Scared that their friend has become a murderer. Scared that they do something monstruous too. Kyle is more and more self-enclosed—all of this has convinced him that he got cursed and he must hide if he doesn't want to hurt anybody he loves. Scott too. He is so afraid of suffering a new diabetic attack that he is barely eating anything at all. He's dealt with his disease all his life, he knows perfectly what to eat or drink, but it so scared about a new accident that he refuses to take any risks. Cartman thinks they are being sissies. I understand them.

I have been carrying a real curse since the day I was born. I know what to do and I am not afraid.

My parents are sleeping at this time, after drinking lots of booze tonight; I can hear them snoring in their bedroom. Karen works part-time in a bar to pay her courses and will be back in an hour. Kevin still has to be in jail for three more weeks. It is time for me to open the wardrobe, put the everyday clothes aside and grab what's hiding inside the hole in its bottom.

Many things have happened these years. I dropped school by the time my voice started to crack. I wasn't taking advantage of it; the money my family spent on my studies was better invested on Karen's—she does want to study and has the brains to actually do something with that knowledge. I never cared about being somebody. I didn't care if I never got to be an astronaut, a movie star or a CEO. Those are things kids dream, and reality hit me in the face soon enough. I just aspired to have a job or do something that would allow me to help paying the bills and have a drink from time to time. The life my parents had before me. Not the American Dream, but not all of us can be Nobel Prizes. There has to be someone folks can compare to and feel better about their own lives—the Germans have a word for that, but I can't pronounce it. That's me, and I don't complain.

There are many ways in which one can contribute to society. At day, I am the guy who breaks his back unloading trucks because he didn't study. At night, I am the shadow that keeps this trash town peaceful.

It is one of those little things I didn't renounce to when I grew up. I just had to use more and more fabric as my body changed, but I am still the same. Mysterion never died, because this town was always in need for him. If I had to leave it to the police, we'd all be screwed. They can't even find Butters.

But I will.

I sneak out of the house like the wind. I use the hole in my room to get out—I covered it with a big mandala tapestry I found in the church. It makes my room look like a hippie smocking den, I don't really like it, but there had to be something in there. Nobody noticed a thing.

I'm back to these dark streets. This part of the town is silent, an I don't make a single noise. I am about to fuse with the shadows when I notice someone coming, and I hide.

Karen is back. It seems she got to finish her shift sooner. It's a good thing I heard her coming, because I don't want her to see me tonight. Still, I stay there, seeming like one more piece of junk in the grass, and watch her as she comes into the house, trying not to wake anyone up. I regret not having followed her tonight, as I do some days. I can't help feeling worried every time she goes out at night. Very little towns are safe when the sun goes down—it is like all the monsters come out at that time. She is seventeen and grew up to be quite a beauty, one of those naïve-looking girls that look younger than they really are and awake the worst instincts of the worst people. I know we taught her how to deal with that garbage and go back home safely, but I can't help it. I am never at peace until I hear the door close. Since her body started developing, I've seen too many guys looking at her in a way that would make any decent brother furious. It is one of the reasons why I couldn't let Mysterion die. For her, and the other young girls in South Park.

Once I see there is light in her room, I go back to my mission.

This time, I don't have to deal with any muggers, or rapists or drug dealers. There is something more important than that. I had access to the Stotches' autopsy, I saw that picture Cartman managed to take before the police came. Butters is now very dangerous, more than all those people together. I don't think he can control his abilities—perhaps he does, but that doesn't make me feel better either. I wish I could know what's in his head. I wouldn't like to have to kill him."