At last! I'm so happy to finally be posting this fanfic. Just a few quick things before we begin:
1. As a reminder—this story is a standalone story and is not the sequel to "Hetalian Creepypastas"
2. These chapters are long. And they will only keep getting longer
3. For a fun added challenge, try to guess which creepypasta(s) each chapter is based on. Not all of them will be obvious, and some chapters will contain more than one creepypasta.
And lastly…
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted characters in any shape or form. All Hetalia characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All characters, themes, and ideas based on the following creepypastas belong to their respective owners.
Another day, another meeting completely ruined by the nonsensical shenanigans the Nations caused. At least this time it didn't end with England and France trying to murder each other nor too many instances of Russia wanting to "become one with everybody". Perhaps this was progress…
…Or perhaps not. Italy was snoring contently as most of the other Nations rose and left the room. Germany sighed, slightly annoyed. He'd much rather go out and eat brunch at some New York café right now than wait for the Italian to wake up. But he had promised his friend he'd spend the rest of the day with him after the meeting. Of course, once Italy did wake up he'd probably insist on eating at that pizzeria they'd passed on the way here. It looked like either way was a lose-lose situation for Germany.
"Hey dude! What's up?" America came up, grinning as he watched the German's irritation level rise. He quickly spotted Italy, though, and, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, pounced on the sleeping man. Italy awoke with a shout.
"Yaaah! Wha—!? Don't hurt me, please! I'm sorry! If I did anything wrong; I didn't mean to!"
America laughed. "Relax, Italy. It's just me. Man, you're way too easy to scare!"
"You should talk, America," Germany retorted irately, "You and your insistent need to play Japan's horror games have left you unable to go to sleep. Then we have to put up with your stupid chatting about it during the meetings. Not to mention the number of times Japan had to stay up late to keep you compa—"
"So are you guys going out to eat soon?" the American cut him off, "'Cause I'm thinking hamburgers for brunch. What do you say?"
"Oh, but I'd really like to try out that pizza place down the street," answered Italy. Germany groaned.
"Then how about this: There's a café some ways down we can go to that serves both. Plus it's got lots of other stuff; I'm sure Germany wouldn't mind." The German blinked, legitimately surprised the younger man was being considerate about where to eat.
"Really?"
"Yeah! It just opened and I want to try it out."
"Sounds like fun," beamed Italy.
"Ja. I suppose that will do."
"Great! Just need to find England first; he said he'd tag along."
"Really?" Germany asked again, this time with skepticism. America shrugged.
"Well, maybe those weren't his exact words, but I'm pretty sure that's what he meant."
"Somehow I doubt that," muttered Germany, but he let Italy join America in his search for the Englishman. The two were eager to eat, so they scoured through all the nearby rooms, the lobby, even the restrooms and downstairs hall. But somehow they couldn't find the man.
"Perhaps he went back to the conference room?" Italy suggested.
"Maybe. Let's check." They raced each other back upstairs, dashing to the meeting hall and banging the door open. "England! We've been looking every—huh? He's not in here." Indeed, there was no soul present within the room. Italy and America stepped inside, scanning the room for any clues. Papers were still strewn all over the large, circular table. A few wrappers from food snuck in littered around some of the seats. America didn't look remotely guilty about spotting the paper airplane still crumpled against the chair Canada had been sitting in during the meeting. "Where is that old man?"
"Hey! Look, America." The American turned to where Italy was pointing. A satchel containing some worn, leather books was shoved under the table. They instantly recognized them as England's once they approached it. So the Nation had been reading while they were discussing very important business? America snorted. It didn't matter; England clearly forgot them and would soon be coming back to retrieve them. "Why don't we give these to England once we find him? I'm sure he'd appreciate it," Italy suggested. America nodded in agreement, snatching the bag. In his haste, however, several of the books tumbled out.
"Ah great. He really should have closed this better." He and Italy knelt to gather the fallen items. "Wow, these are old. Careful not to tear the covers or we won't hear the end of it from him."
"Oh no! I think a page fell out!" Italy panicked, picking up a piece of brown paper. America took the page from his hand, inspecting it.
"Nah, this is England's handwriting. I don't think it was in a book to begin with. Hmm! I didn't know he still liked writing on these parchment things." He looked closely at the sheet. "Whoa…is this really what one of those spells he keeps talking about looks like? Looks more like ancient poetry to me."
"A spell? Can I see?" He peered over the taller man's shoulder. "Vestram Videre Somnia Flagrans."
"See Your Wildest Dreams," the blond roughly translated. The Italian looked at him.
"You know Latin?" America blushed slightly in embarrassment.
"Um…England made me read some when I was younger. But forget about that; I can't believe he actually wrote this. And it looks kinda useful. Well, maybe not 'useful,' but definitely something interesting."
"I wonder what counts as a wild dream," pondered Italy. "Maybe it's our greatest desire."
"Or maybe it lets us see the future and all the awesome things we'll do," laughed the other man.
"Yeah! That would be cool." A pause. "Hey, America, do you want to try it out?" America nodded his head enthusiastically, grinning in excitement. He quickly put down the bag and studied the paper once more, trying to decipher the scribbles.
"Let the heart release its contents, overflowing the mind and soul with thoughts locked away. The one—no, wait—ones whose names I chant shall see their wildest dreams come to life." He paused dramatically for effect. "America and Italy!" America yelped in surprise as the text on the page shone with a sinister red light. Almost immediately afterward, a wave of nausea hit the duo, and Italy almost proceeded to heave from the sudden upsetting feeling.
"What…what was that?" he gasped. America groaned in pain, clutching his stomach. Slowly did the strange illness ebb away, but it left behind a forming headache. It wasn't too bothersome, more than bearable to be frank, but the constant distant pain made the room swirl. What in the world was going on?
Though his vision was altered, America's hearing worked just fine, and he picked up the noise of brisk footsteps heading their direction. He reacted quickly and stuffed the spell paper in his jacket pocket just as England appeared in the doorway. The latter started upon seeing them, surprised as his gaze shifted to the items in their arms. "What are you two doing with my books?"
"England! We've been looking for you." America zipped over to the man and trapped him in a strangling bear hug. "You shouldn't make the hero wait, you know. You were supposed to wait up for me."
"Ack!" the Brit gasped, struggling to escape the constricting embrace, "Why should I have? I was going home, you twat. Now let me go!"
"But you promised," frowned America as he released the Englishman.
"I did no such thing."
"Yes you did. I asked earlier if you wanted to go out and eat with me. You said, and I quote, 'Oh yes, because I would much rather eat out with you than get some desperately needed rest at the hotel.'"
"That's called sarcasm, you idiot!"
"Then you should have said so sooner." America had his smile plastered on his face again as he grabbed England's arm and began dragging him out of the room. England fought back, but he was no match for the iron-like grip.
Italy chuckled lightly as he followed behind them despite his mind being on other things. Such as why the headache he was having hadn't yet disappeared. It was ever so slowly gaining in intensity actually, making him more than a little concerned. And if that wasn't enough there was also the sudden shift in his mood to deal with. Italy frowned. Wait…when exactly had his emotions changed? Wasn't he excited just a second ago? Why now did he have this…odd feeling? He wasn't sad, he was…what was it? Anxious? No, he had no future plans other than spending the afternoon with Germany; nothing to be anxious about. Confused? That would have been caused by the strange headache, not anything else he could think of. Paranoid? Like he was being watched…?
"There you two are." Germany was already waiting for them in the front lobby once they returned downstairs. Italy dashed over and latched onto his friend's arm. He put on a smile just for him.
"Ve~! Let's go, Germany!" Germany immediately tried to push the man off, but hugging and not letting go seemed to be the one thing Italy was able to beat Germany at. America quickly took the lead, still pulling England along by the arm, and the four stepped out into the bright, sunny New York City. America guided his friends down the various streets, pointing out some of his favorite buildings. Italy smiled politely as he looked around; he was hardly interested in what the man had to show them. His mood was plummeting, his headache getting worse, and he wondered how in the world America was still so cheery. He'd been suffering with him earlier, so shouldn't he be experiencing the same symptoms?
Amber eyes narrowed slightly to observe. On the surface, America behaved as animatedly as he normally did. But his grin…there was something slightly off. Italy couldn't identify it, but something about it seemed fake, forced even. And it was very hard to catch it with America pointing around and turning to face everything but…his eyes…they were shifting constantly, narrowing ever so slightly for a few seconds, lingering a millisecond longer on each and every alleyway or obstruction they passed. Those weren't the eyes of someone sightseeing; they were the eyes of someone scouting. Searching. But why?
"Ngh…" A sudden throb of pain in his head made his world spin, and the Italian tried shaking away the feeling.
"Italy? Are you okay?" Germany looked down at him. His eyebrows were slightly raised in alarm.
"Y-yes sir," the Italian flashed him another smile. "I'm okay, just a little dizzy. Probably because I haven't had any pasta today. I think I'll have that instead of pizza." Germany nodded, England sighed, and America let out a booming laugh. Italy briefly mused whether he was the only one to notice how hollow it sounded.
It wasn't much later they finally reached the café. They were seated at an outdoor table and told that a waiter would be with them shortly. By this point, Italy was leaning against Germany's shoulder, feeling quite drained of energy. The pain in his head seemed to have increased tenfold. Yet he tried to play it off, pretending to be snuggling against his best friend. Thankfully, Germany did little to get him off.
"America, get your head off the table," growled England. The boy was very reluctant to lift his head out from his folded arms.
"Tired," came his worn voice.
"Well that's no reason to act improperly in public," England scolded, "And what's come over you anyway? Usually you're bouncing up and down until the waiter arrives. Don't tell me you're ill." A pause and then America lifted his head, grinning energetically.
"Me? Sick? Dream on. I was just thinking about where to show you guys around to next."
"That's total bullocks! You just said you were tired. And we're not touring your city either. Just because we're staying in your country a little longer than normal doesn't mean we have any plans to sightsee. I'm leaving for home as soon as the meeting tonight is over."
"Aw, can't you spend the night like Germany and Italy?" America teased.
"Hardly."
"By the way, America," Italy interrupted, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm, "We didn't get to thank you properly for letting us spend the night at your house. So grazie."
"We wouldn't have to be spending the night at his house at all if you'd paid more attention to our departure time," Germany reprimanded him.
Italy only nodded mutely, recalling when he'd ordered tickets for connecting flights leaving the next morning instead of that evening. Unable to fix his mistake the two called nearby hotels for a last minute reservation but found every single one completely booked. America, always wanting to be the hero, had offered to let the two stay at his place after hearing of their ordeal during the meeting.
Germany sighed. "But ja, thank you, America. Are you sure you don't mind letting us stay the night there while you're away?"
America made a small noise, laying his head back down. "As long as you don't eat all my food, I'm cool with it. I got some work to catch up on, but I'll be staying at the apartment tonight if you need anything." He moaned quietly underneath his folded arms.
"America, are you positive you're okay?" England sounded concerned for the boy. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothi—ugh!" He suddenly clutched his head, eyes shut tight and watering in pain.
"America!" England was on his feet. "That's it, we're getting you home. Don't deny it; you're sick. Germany, Italy, give me a hand here." Germany instantly stood, but he took notice when his friend remained seated.
"Italy?"
Italy couldn't respond immediately. The migraine was now unbearable, and it hurt to simply lift his head. He knew it was foolish and yet he still struggled to make it look like he was all right. "I-I'm f-fine, Germany. I ju—" An intense flash of pain, the sensation of falling, two cries of alarm, and then all Italy knew was darkness…
The world was a blur when Italy finally opened his eyes. He sat up slowly, allowing his vision to correct itself. He was…on a couch? How did he get…where was he exactly? The thin blanket that had been covering him fell off.
"Italy?" The Italian turned his head when his name was called. Germany was standing by the other side of the couch, concern clear all over his face. He rushed to Italy's side. The latter was caught surprised to find himself being hugged. "Thank goodness! I thought something horrible happened to you."
"What…what did happen to me?" Germany let go.
"You collapsed, don't you remember? England and I were worried for you. We brought you here to the house as soon as we could, and you've been sleeping since." So the two of them brought Italy to America's house? Then…
"Where is America? And England?"
"England took America to the apartment and will be staying with him to make certain he's fine as well. Neither of you were well, but you were the only one to collapse. Are you sure you're okay?" Italy nodded in affirmation; the headache was nearly gone. Germany sighed in relief. "That's good to hear."
Italy looked around the living room. America's place was surprisingly well-kept. Or perhaps Germany had kept himself busy cleaning the room as he waited for his friend to wake up. Italy felt a pool of guilt form, hoping he hadn't worried Germany too much. He glanced out a window. To his utter shock the sun had already set. "How long was I asleep?" Germany looked outside then gestured toward the towering grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room.
"For almost eight hours. I'm sorry we couldn't eat at the café like you wanted. However, I don't think you're well enough for us to be going back out."
Italy nodded. "That's okay," he smiled lightly, "We can cook up something here. As long as we don't use up all of his food, I'm sure America won't mind." Germany nodded in agreement.
Italy got himself up from the couch, and his German friend led him to the kitchen. The former immediately went to work finding all the ingredients needed to make his favorite dish. "What is it you want me to do?"
Italy paused and stared at Germany. "What? You want to help out?"
"Of course. I…it's the least I should do for you." Italy could feel the bubble of delight and bewilderment burst within him after hearing those words. Despite being close, Germany rarely assisted him in making food; maybe now it was because he'd been so worried about Italy that he wanted to help him. Italy grinned and asked Germany if he could gather some of the plates and dishes. He did so without complaint.
The duo immensely enjoyed themselves as they worked, laughing at each other's stories and jokes as they prepared the pasta and sauce. As they ate, Italy continued to recount some of their favorite moments and adventures together; Germany politely listened and smiled in fondness as he remembered them as well. The task of cleaning up afterward wasn't a chore to either as they took turns washing and drying the dishes. And with their spirits so high they went the extra mile and cleaned the rest of America's kitchen. By now it was late. However, the two friends were far from tired. Italy browsed through America's house looking for things to entertain themselves with. They went through a multitude of board games, card games, and even a few video games they'd found in his closets. The night flew by with much contentment.
This has to be a dream, Italy thought to himself with a laugh. He couldn't recall ever having this much fun with Germany. His thoughts went back to the spell he and America performed. Perhaps it was real; perhaps the spell actually could make your wildest dreams come true. If that was so then he never wanted it to end.
As it neared two in the morning, the duo ventured down to America's basement. It was more of a game room really: the area wasn't too large, but no one could miss the giant flat-screen television on the opposite side of the room. Stacks of movies and games filled the shelves of the entertainment set. Italy ran over to it, dashing past the bean bag chair nestled in front of the screen. "How many games does one person need?" Germany muttered, frowning slightly. But Italy didn't care. He was already browsing through the movies.
"Which one do you want to watch?" he asked. The blond shrugged. "How about this one?" Italy held up a newly released American movie that wouldn't be available in either of their countries for another few days. Germany grimaced but relented to watch the video with him. Italy wondered if it was because Germany had a preference for action movies and this one was more of a drama.
"I guess I'll make us some popcorn if you'd like."
"Grazie!" thanked the Italian as he set up the video, and Germany went upstairs to make the food.
"You can start the movie without me; I won't miss much," he called over his shoulder. The auburn-haired man pouted slightly but pressed play, skipping through the commercials and starting the film. Once Germany returned with the food they'd watch it together, Italy thought with a wide smile, and his evening would be close to perfect.
Bzzt!
"Hm?" Italy could have sworn he heard a noise. Like a buzz or something. A sound effect from the movie most likely. Or maybe the DVD player was getting old.
Bzzt!
No…there it was again. "Strange," Italy frowned as he turned down the volume. He went up to inspect the television and put his ear to the speaker. There weren't any buzzing sound-effects playing.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
Except it wasn't buzzing he was hearing, now that he thought about it. It was more like—
A creak from the stairs startled him. Italy paused and listened. Someone was up on the top step.
And just standing there.
A minute of puzzled silence passed as Italy sat there wondering why his friend didn't come down already. "Ger—" He stopped himself suddenly. Something felt off. Wrong. Germany wouldn't do this. He'd have said something by now. But only he and Germany were in the house, right? So if that wasn't Germany then who could it be? Maybe it would be best if I hide somewhere. The thought seemly formed of its own accord, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, Italy didn't question it. As silently as he could, he crawled behind the large television set and pressed his back against it. If it was Germany, he could easily play off that he was trying to surprise him.
The step groaned again. Whoever was there was coming down. Slowly. Italy's breathing quickened. Germany, stop trying to scare me! he internally whined. He could feel his palms heating up.
Another creak. The person was nearing the bottom. They were literally four or five steps away from entering the room. Italy clamped his hands over his mouth and nose, desperate that not a sound escape him.
Thup.
Thup.
Thup. The person was standing at the doorway. Italy closed his eyes tightly. Germany, say something!
"Italy?" Italy's eyes shot open. That was indeed Germany's voice.
But it was coming from the top of the stairway.
What should he do? If he warned his friend that wasn't him, the stranger would immediately know where he was. And if they found him…Italy had the darkest impression that what they would do wouldn't be anything good. The Italian could sense the ominous presence didn't so much as flinch when the German called out. It just stood there, glaring into the room Italy was hiding in. "Is that you?" Germany was coming down the stairs. No! Turn back! Italy desperately wanted to shout. But he was too scared. Too scared to warn his friend. Too scared to even face the intruder. Something evil was in the room. And he was too scared to move.
Tears began to sting his eyes as he internally struggled with himself to do something. His body quivered with restrained energy, ready to fight or fly at a moment's notice, but the brain just wouldn't give the signal. Muted screams were caught in his throat, their forewarning utterly useless. And as Italy sat there fighting to move, Germany reached the bottom step. "Italy? Why are you just standing—?" There was a clatter as Germany dropped something. "You're not Italy!"
There was the sudden sound of splattering, and Italy's heart nearly stopped. "GYA—!" The German started to cry out, but he was quickly silenced by another swift and muffled blow. There was a low, watery, and strangled noise as if someone was choking on liquid. And…and not just any type of liquid. There was no fooling himself, Italy thought with horror. One way or another that was blood he was hearing. His best friend was drowning. In his own blood. The welling tears in his eyes flowed down in burning streams. He could have saved him. He could have…he could've…if he hadn't…
Another sound. Ripping. The stranger was tearing something. It was a disgusting noise. Almost enough to make Italy want to heave up the contents of his stomach and—
Snap! The loud, crisp snap rang in Italy's ears. He couldn't take it anymore! He stumbled out from behind his hiding spot, barely able to stand on shaking legs. His breath caught. In front of him was a monster: A humanoid creature, tall, taller than Germany, dressed in a pure black suit that stretched along its entire lithe frame. Its head, a deathly white, was completely shaved. The creature's back was to Italy, but he could easily see what the figure held in its thin, slender hands, both inked in crimson.
Germany was facing him, his blue eyes frozen wide with shock and terror. But they had already stopped seeing. Drying torrents of blood coated his mouth, neck, and chest, the latter two areas with wide wounds pierced through them. In the monster's right hand was a severed arm ripped from its socket. Italy gagged.
The creature paused. Then, slowly, slowly, it turned around. Italy was stunned—the face was absolutely featureless. No eyes, no mouth, no nose. And yet he knew it was leering at him. Grinning with mirth at the deed it had done. The deed it was about to do again. It dropped the body and severed limb to the ground.
Italy wanted to escape. But the monster stood by the doorway. He was trapped.
The creature took one step towards the trembling Nation. "S-st-st-stay b-b-back!" Italy stammered terribly. His eyes kept darting between it and the dead Germany lying on the floor.
Another step closer. The Italian gulped, petrified in place like a scared little rabbit.
Another step. Long stained fingers reached forward.
Italy bolted. He ducked beneath the hand, tumbling to the ground as he did so. He slid forward but managed to get to his hands and knees before all his balance was lost. Something warm and sticky clung to his fingers. Italy looked down. His right hand had landed directly in the pool of blood seeping from his friend's wounds. "G-Germany, I…I…" What could he say? It was too late to apologize. He could hear the black-suited monster shuffle, and before his mind could register it, Italy was on his feet again. He tripped as he ran up the stairs two at a time, but his fear quickly allowed him to rebalance himself and continue. At the top, he looked over his shoulder as he fled. The monster was standing calmly at the bottom of the steps, his head pointing up at him. "Go away!" Italy screamed.
He sprinted through the dark house. Only the kitchen and a single hallway light had been left on; the rest of the interior was pitch-black. Italy didn't have time to switch on all the lights. He took his chances and ran for the front door, hoping he remembered enough of the layout to navigate correctly. His ears were ringing with static—that had been the noise he heard earlier but unable to identify. And Italy just knew it was somehow coming from that thing chasing him.
The door! He would have slammed right into it if his hand wasn't already reaching out for the knob. He yanked it open and threw himself outside. The night sky greeted him, and thousands of stars twinkled brightly onto the panting Nation below them. But appreciating their beauty was the last thing on Italy's mind. He gulped down air as he looked back at the house.
No! Italy knew he was fast. When scared senseless, he was able to leave virtually everybody in the dust. The distance between the basement and here was at least a floor's length. So how, how was it the monster was standing right there, right behind the window, looking as if it'd been watching him there the whole time? There was no way it could have moved that quickly!
Yelling in fright, Italy flew across the yard, his legs in hyperdrive as he raced off the property and down the street. Every time he glanced back, the monster was there: behind a twisted tree, beside an untrimmed bush, peeking from the side of a house. And each time it seemed to be getting closer. Italy yelped again, looking for something—anything—that could save him. The street he was on was mostly shadowed; instinct told him to run towards light.
There! Ahead of him was the glowing beacon of salvation: a streetlamp. He pushed his legs to keep going, as sore as they were starting to become. Without warning, the static swimming in his ears stopped. Looking behind himself, Italy couldn't find the creature anywhere. But he had reached the streetlamp, which was on the corner of the main road. Not too many cars and people were about, but there were certainly enough so that someone would notice him being followed by a faceless monster.
Sore, out of breath, and barely able to stand, Italy leaned against the lamp pole and slid to the ground. What was he to do now? Behind him was a house he could not return to, a friend he had abandoned, and a darkness containing an abomination hell-bent on slaughtering him. Before him was the city, lit and populated but totally unfamiliar. And possibly just as dangerous.
A breeze blew by. Germany wasn't here, and Italy didn't know where to go or what to do. So he just sat there and cried.
A/N: So…I just killed off Germany in the first chapter. I can only wonder how the next thirty of these will go…
Featured Creepypasta(s): The Basement, Slenderman
Reviews and critiques are highly appreciative :)