Eric Cartman waddled into his house, slamming the door shut as he muttered to himself. He had just returned from hiding, and he was finally allowed to have some peace and quiet. Of course the cops would be outside his house for awhile longer, but at least he didn't have to be in the even smaller hickier town he had been the past few weeks.
The notes from the stalker had completely stopped long ago, and the few survivors from his attacks had just been released from the hospital. Regardless, there was something permanently wrong with each one of them. Not that he cared; he didn't like any of them anyway.
Hearing his stomach growl he walked himself into his kitchen, at once seeing a note held with a black cross magnet on his fridge. He read the short note from his mom.
Welcome home Poopseekins!
I'm so sorry I couldn't be home for your welcome! But duty calls sugarnut! I baked a nice big chocolate cake as a welcome home gift! Be sure to call your little friends and invite them over to share! I'll be home later tonight to fix your favorite dinner!
Love, Mummy :)
Eric snorted to himself after reading the second to last line, 'no way am I inviting those fags over to share my cake.' He told himself as he opened the refrigerator.
He happily cut himself half the cake before taking it and a huge glass of milk, plopping himself in front of the television. Cartman cried with laughter as he watched the cartoon characters antics on the TV while he continued to consume his large portion of double layer chocolate chip marble brownie fudge cake. As soon as he was done he let out a low belch and rubbed his stomach, yawning shortly.
Deciding a nap would be his next best move, he left the television set on and left his dishes lying on the table tray. Making his way upstairs to his bed room, he stopped at the bathroom for a quick relief before continuing. Not bothering to change his clothes, he merely kicked off his shoes and dropped down on his bed falling asleep almost instantly.
Cartman thrashed and twisted in his sleep, his nightmares were of the masked stalker, notes, and oddly enough toilet stalls. Forcing himself awake, the last of his dream he remembered before waking was of a dark haired boy, around his age in his bedroom. He was clothed head to toe in black, and had jet black hair and a dark cold scowl upon his face. The dark features made his pale white skin glow in an unnatural manner. What made the boy eerier were his piercing ice blue eyes as they stared at him over his bed. It was those eyes that startled Cartman into jerking awake.
His breathing was heavy and he was sweating profusely. He fell out of bed, slightly disoriented as he headed for his bathroom. Turning on the faucet he splashed the cool water on his face while taking a few heavy gulps. Having calmed down a little he dried himself off and decided to try and get a few more hours of sleeping in before his mom came home from work.
Walking out of his bathroom he stopped in his tracks. On his bed, his pillow specifically, sat a little folded note card. He looked around at his medium sized bedroom as his heart began slamming against his chest. His door was firmly shut as was his window, which was locked tightly. He could clearly see under his bed and he nearly wet himself as he made himself open his closet door. There was nothing and, more importantly, no one inside the closet but his clothes, shoes and miscellaneous junk.
Looking back to the note card he slowly approached his bed. Stopping half way to glance around his room again, even looking up. He gingerly picked up the little note and read its contents.
Ah, my seventh greatest sin, perhaps lucky seventh is more appropriate. It took you awhile to pick up this card, a bit on the nervous side are we? Well, Dad isn't too thrilled of my personal vendetta and has put a stop to my fun. Lucky, lucky you. He may be watching my every move, but keep in mind fat boy I'm watching yours. He can't keep an eye on me forever and I haven't forgotten how you've treated others. This isn't over. When Satan looks the other way I'll be back, getting my just revenge. What is it you mortals always say? Watch your step? I'll be fucking with you till the day I get to kill you.
Truly yours, Damien
Oh, and how was the cake? I made it myself.
End of The Boy who Loved Tweek Tweak
AN: Thanks for reading everyone!