Title: Mitternacht
Summary: It wasn't the noise that was so terrifying…it was the not knowing where it was coming from and the sinister feeling that he shouldn't find out.[Demon!PrussiaxServant!Canada, AU]
Warnings: slight slash
Disclaimer: Insert generic/witty comment about generic/witty comments about generic/witty disclaimers.
A/N:
Simple title is simple. It means "midnight" in (you guessed it!) German.
Have a mountain ('cause I'm so kind) or Antartica ('cause it's more annoying than those impenetrable plastic fortresses around whatever electronic doo-hikey I choose to waste my money on now…no 'fense to the continent (?) with the largest desert on Earth).
It started one night with light tapping at the window.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
It woke him out of his deep sleep with a feeling as if his whole body had been submerged in water. He shot up in bed, shaking and sweating, his eyes wide with fear he wasn't aware of.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
His breath was erratic and uneven as he searched the dark room for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on the wall, where the shadows of the branches next to his window were illuminated by moonlight and framed by the window's edges.
Then he realized it.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
There was something not quite right with the shadows. A dark blotch amidst the equally dark lines caused him to squint hard at the projection on his wall.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
With dread filling his veins, he turned in his bed to look out the window.
Nothing.
He stood, gathering his nightgown in cold hands as he slid his feet into his slippers, stumbling on lithe and awkward teenage legs to the window. He pressed his hands and nose to the glass, shivering as frost connected with plump cheeks and delicate fingertips. Violet eyes searched the night for any sign of what he had seen.
He wasn't even positive he knew what he had seen, but he was sure he had seen something.
Then, as the night grew lighter, he eventually slipped back into his bed, laying on his stomach to better stay vigilant in case it came back.
It did not and he faded back into sleep.
—
The next day, he went through his daily chores in the mansion, being the servant of a rich and powerful earl. He was not the only one, and even though everyone hardly noticed him, he was not allowed to slack on his job. Throughout the day, he did well to keep himself going despite the sleep that fogged his mind. He refused to think the apparition of the night before of anything more than a dream. He did his jobs, quickly and thoroughly, before crawling back into his bed as night began to cast its cloak over the sky.
—
He awoke with a start. He was unsure as to why, and so he lay in silence, waiting for any clue as to what had woken him.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
When he heard it, he froze, the blood in his veins grew cold and a rock formed in the pit of his stomach. The sudden fright confused him, his own body causing such drastic things with no explanation? He suspected his body knew better than he, but curiosity provoked him to stand up, despite his shaking, and make his way, ever so slowly, to peer cautiously out the window.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
He did not jump, he did not breathe. He stayed there, still as a statue, as he watched the blood-red eyes disappear then reappear. Dark feathers shifted and shook, a large wingspan expanding itself as the monster outside his window made itself ready for takeoff.
He only blinked and it was gone, the only thing left was the image of two piercing red orbs staring back at him, intent on causing him distress throughout the night.
—
He worked hard to forget the night before, absolutely terrified and convinced the devil was after his soul. Every time the thought passed his mind, he would stop what he was doing (which was mostly sweeping, during which he'd hold the handle close to his breast) and clutch at the cross around his neck while he prayed.
Several times, he'd find himself terrified of the shadows of midday and stray away to the brighter areas.
Several other times, he found himself shaking, hands becoming clammy, heart racing, and the familiar rock settling itself in his stomach for no reason he could find.
He fell asleep after fitful hours of tossing and turning, wrapping himself in a cocoon of sheets.
—
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
He refused to open his eyes. The familiar feeling of panic ravaged throughout his body, and he moved his hand to put it over his heart as it thumped painfully against his ribcage.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
His heartbeat thrumming in his ears nearly covered the terrifying pecks on the glass. Nearly.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
He pressed his hand harder into his chest, begging his heart to still.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
Tlink, tlink, tl—
It was silent, save for his pounding heart, and he desperately tried to shush it. His eyes, having been squeezed tightly shut through the whole ordeal, now peeled themselves apart to stare up at a wooden ceiling. He smiled, a nervous, twitchy quirk of the lips.
Then it was cold—bitterly, bitterly cold. It sneaked in between the thin fibers of his blankets and suffocated him. This was not a normal cold. It was a dry, terrifying temperature that didn't gently ghost its way across his skin—it lay, enveloping the whole of his body in a deep, bitter, dark cold that rose goosebumps and caused him to shiver uncontrollably.
He closed his eyes again and began to pray. He was unable to move his hands to touch his cross so he settled with clutching at his nightgown for some sort of comfort, for some sort of warmth.
The cold sank beneath his skin, settling into his muscles, then going deeper, until it touched his marrow and became one with him. He attempted to grit his chattering teeth, but he found he was unable to control his shaking, and soon the sound of chattering teeth and stuttered prayers filled the room.
Then, as a hand laid itself upon his forehead, the cold was lifted. His eyes opened wide and his panicking began anew, because there above him was the set of piercing red eyes that belonged to the demon. He was unable to scream, so he continued his prayers, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
As his eyes began to adjust to the dark, details of the face that the red orbs belonged to appeared. Strong jaw line, a slender nose, pale skin, and a hideous grin.
The grin is what attracted most of his attention. It stretched across the (admittedly beautiful) face, sharp teeth glinting in the slight moonlight, and a terrifying laugh slipping between two thin lips.
The face got closer and he closed his eyes, more tears slipping and mingling and gathering on his lashes.
Then it was warmth. Warm everywhere and specifically on his cheek. It felt like it was kissing him there, but demons don't kiss their victims so tenderly. He refused to stop his praying, having finally been able to move his hands to clutch the necklace, he had one hand over the other. The hand on his forehead did not remove itself and the contact began to burn (as did the contact on his cheek and the other hand that was covering his own).
The lips burned as they traveled down from his cheek to his ear. They moved, uttering three words.
"I'll be back."
Then it was still.
—
He awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and drenched in his own sweat.
Throughout the day, he was terrified of everything. He refused to eat his porridge or even touch his bread, instead choosing to hide away from the other servants during mealtime. He kept even quieter than usual, going into full-fledged panic attacks at the smallest things. He shook constantly as he did his chores and he dreaded the coming night.
As the shadows grew long, his shaking grew worse.
Some of the other servants (the few who paid attention to him) asked him what was wrong. He merely answered with an all too worn out statement of "nothing," with the occasional "just sick is all" or "not feeling well".
—
He sat up throughout the night, curled in on himself. He clutched his necklace and prayed as he watched the room with fearful eyes. The candle on his bedside table (which he had to trade chores for) flickered and casted shadows on the walls. Shadows that reminded him of the demon. He battled with himself on whether or not to blow the candle out, but eventually decided not to, hoping that the light would scare away the demon.
He quickly found out it would not.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
First, the flame dimmed, dipping in on itself before straightening again. Then, quickly, it was gone, leaving only the faint smell of burnt wick and smoke. He clutched at his cross and whimpered in the dark, his eyes wide and searching.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
Tlink, tlink, tlink.
Tlink, tlink, tl—
Then the mysterious cold came, sinking quickly into his innermost core. The shivering was even more violent than before, quickly making him frustrated with his lack of control over himself.
He knew what was going to happen next and he began to recite his prayers quicker, trying to convey all of his terror in the Latin words through his chattering teeth.
He blinked briefly and the demon appeared, standing at his bedside yet again.
He began to pray for it to be quick and painless as the demon bent over him, its hand and knee sinking into the mattress, causing it to squeak in protest to the added weight.
"You waited up for me, Matthew."
Then the warmth, on his cheek, on his thigh, and finally on his lips. Then it was warmth no more, but a scalding pressure upon his skin.
Then it was gone. He opened his eyes slowly, having stopped muttering his prayers. And there on his lap was a mass of black feathers.
With bright red eyes.
"How kind." It said.
"W-who are you?" He asked in his bravest voice.
"I am no one. I am everyone. I am your worst fear and I am your favorite solace. But most importantly of all–" he could almost see it grinning "–I am your lover."
A/N:
WHAA–AT?
…Please don't kill me, or else all my wives (all seven of them) will seek revenge. And since they regularly beat on me, I know it is not a very fun thing. :'(
Bad attempt at something suspense-y while listening to depressing Greek music after just having stuffed my brain with Chinese. ;u;
-sob-