Elysian Fields (A Kyman Fanfiction)

Chapter 6: Ceremony

He had been dead for a week. The sweet stench of decay had only been delayed by the three feet of snow and perpetual below freezing temperatures. We had never seen anything like it. What was left of his face was a garden of burst cuts and black bruises, maggots wriggling and nesting deep inside. His cheek's skin had been ripped into a jagged permanent smile, the bottom half of his jaw being dislocated kicked through it. His teeth were all broken nubs of their past glory. Even at that age, we realized what we were staring at.

"Now boys, we know you've had a long day with the police, but we need to talk to you about something," Mrs Marsh said calmly.

It was seven years ago, so there were less photos on the walls of the Marsh's living room. Every cushion of the couch and lazy boy were occupied, so they had brought the dining room chairs to make for more seating. The room was populated with each of our immediate family members, Mr and Mrs Marsh with Stan, my mom and dad, Miss Cartman and Eric, Kenny and his parents, and Butters and the Stotch's. Stan's and my parents were attempting to remain calm, keeping their volume in check, but I could feel the rage emanating from Stan's father, Randy, and Butters' parents.

Mr Marsh began, "You see, son," putting his hand on Stan's small knee. "We're just trying to understand... why you didn't report it sooner."

Stan guiltily looked down and shuffled his dangling feet, "We didn't mean to... Not report it. We just wanted to see what would happen."

We had been playing an attempt at football in the park, tripping over the snow and not understanding how to make a play. Kenny told me to go long and Cartman tackled me into bushes. The ball went flying out of my hands and next to the bloodied man we would later learn was Mr Slave, our fourth grade teachers ex lover.

"Watch what?" Stan's mom ushered, putting her hand on his back.

He didn't reply. In all honesty we didn't have an answer outside of 'we wanted to watch.'

It had been a boring week. Snow kept us inside unusually, barring the exits and canceling school due to the sheer amount of ice on the roads. When we were finally able to leave our houses, there wasn't much to do. We'd already counted all the frogs at the pond, defeated each other in hand to hand combat (Cartman won in the last round by sitting on Stan), and rewatched the same TV shows. We were bored, old enough to want more but too young to understand what, the plague of being a pre-preteen of overstimulated hypsexualized America in the early millennium.

His arms and legs had been bound behind him, but when I fell into that bush, he had been facing me, his eyes hollowed by death and cruel joke of a smile welcoming me.

Butters had puked and cried once he and the other two heard our screams and run up. Stan threw up too, as I recall. I scuttled back, shocked and disgusted. Cartman was intrigued by the body, daring to get closer to it than the rest of us, but still knowing not to touch it.

"It looks like he was beaten to death," he said matter-of-factly.

"Thanks Captain Obvious," Kenny muttered, his mouth blocked by his puffy orange hood.

"How can you be so cool about this? He's dead, Cartman," Stan exclaimed, his eyes threatening to burst out of his tiny head in stress.

"It's not like he's suffering now," Cartman replied. "Obviously he was, but who knows how long he's been here." He sighed and circled the body, inspecting it from every angle, his eyes taking in every gorey detail and etching it into his memory. "Well... we should probably tell someone."

"Or not. Maybe if we ignore it, he'll go away," Butters timidly suggested, wringing his hands anxiously.

"And what, Butters? What will take him away? The local fauna might eat him if he starts to stink more. Or maybe whoever did this will return and take the body to his basement and keep it as a trophy, a constant reminder of the night he beat the guy to death," Cartman sounded exasperated.