CHAPTER 1

A/N – So… this happened, people. Instead of updating my other four stories which are currently on (a hopefully soon to be over) hiatus, I decided to adapt this old thing (another original fic of mine), because autumn has come, my vacation is gone – I'm back to work and I was in need for some good horror story. And USUK fits in – always does with this creepy stuff, for some reason… So have fun!

There will be some minor OCs in this story, but only for plot's sake, so don't despair just yet ;) And yeah, it's an incredibly weird crap, I am aware of it.

The swamp seemed an endless space of mystery in the approaching sunset. The particular scent of water plants filled the air. One could feel it was there. The magic. Something old as the world and yet young as the youth itself, Aunt Elaine had said. How he should know, even if he was only six years old. His small hand in the soft squeeze of her palm as they walked along the narrow path among the huge tree roots. The water, sparkling wickedly from among leaves of all shapes and sizes, muddy-green, bottomless. It called him with an unheard whisper. His whole body went numb and suddenly felt feather light. He let himself fall and the water swallowed him in a cool embrace. He kept his eyes wide open, mesmerized by the sunrays breaking through the underwater leaves. Here under, all sounds were faint, coming from another world, so distant it felt unreal. It was all so plainly wonderful. Just then he was pulled back and the next thing he felt was the ground, so hard under his head and tears came to his eyes. Aunt Elaine watched him in silence and slowly reached down to caress his cheek.

Alfred woke up with a start in the profuse darkness of his room. His body gradually beginning to relax while still panting lightly, he reached for the cell phone on his nightstand and quickly checked it. No call, no message from him. Nothing.

He doesn't care about me! He does not care if I'm alive or dead! The thoughts were spinning in the blond's head in an endless whirlpool as his hand searched blindly inside the top drawer for the sleeping pills. He told himself that at least he should have gotten some more rest before the night was over, but damn, the bottle was empty!

He lay back on the pillows, wiping the cold beads of sweat off his brow. In moments like this, Matthew seemed so far away from him, out of reach, almost unreal. So Alfred had taken the habit of always replaying everything in his mind - the night they had met at Francis's party, their first date, his childish smile, his soft lips whispering the first 'I love you'. He remained lost in thought for a while, then picked up his cell phone and hurriedly dialed Francis's number.

"Hello?" he heard his old friend mumbling, as woken from sleep.

"Hey man, it's Alfred…"

"Hey… what's up mon ami, why do you call me at this hour, anything wrong? Are you alright?"

"Man… I'm not okay. I… um… have no more pills, man. And I need them, if I wanna get some sleep, I… I don't feel so well," Alfred confessed, nervously swallowing as he spoke. This wasn't good – the dreams, the pills, it was all fucked up and he knew it, he should have… well…

"Anxious again, aren't you?" came the Frenchman's drowsy voice from the other end of the line.

"Yeah, kinda… Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me up with this… after all you're a doctor, if you gave me a new prescription… I really need'em." The blond scrubbed his free hand over his face - it was useless, Francis wasn't going to bring him any damned pills in the middle of the night, nor was he going to promise a new prescription without having things looked at first. How troublesome, and all he wanted was a bit of sleep, a bit of peace.

"I don't know, mon ami… let's just talk first, alright? Tell me about it…"

Alfred wanted to speak but felt his thoughts fade away. He made an effort to let it out nevertheless, because he knew Francis would insist until he did. "It's Mattie. Um… he… I don't know anymore. He left to see some relatives and I haven't heard from him in three days now."

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"I just… I don't know. He kinda does that to me… I mean he's done it before. Ignoring me and stuff… And I think, no, I don't think, I fear. It's like something has come between us lately, but I can't quite put my finger on it." I fear that he doesn't love me anymore. But he was strangely afraid that it would be true if he said it out loud.

"I see… well what can I say, maybe you should think how you feel too, Alfred. Maybe there's nothing there anymore, you know what I'm saying?" Francis replied in a low voice and there was something odd about the way he said it, like a bizarre coldness, a sense of definitive which only stirred his friend's despair further.

"But man, I love him. If there's one thing I know for sure about this, this is the thing. I do love him. I need him, man!"

"I understand, mon ami," the Frenchman soothed. "But just... if he doesn't feel the same about you, don't obsess. Just see how it goes for a while, what happens next and if things don't change for the better, then… just end this whole thing. It's for your own good," Francis hurried to say, then added "I will bring your pills tomorrow morning. Just try to relax for now. Clear your mind of all thoughts and try to sleep, alright? See you in the morning."

"Ok, thanks a lot, man. See you." Alfred laid the cell phone back on the nightstand and let his head fall onto the pillow once more. A heavy burden was on his heart, pressing hard, and he could not push it away. Soon he gave in to a deep, dreamless sleep.

Francis hung up and rolled over between the sheets, trying to fight back his annoyance. Alfred just wouldn't give up on him. He loved him, good one! He needed him! He who was loved by everyone around him. But he needed him, Matthew, from all the boys in this world. Sure thing, Matthew knew a thing of two about how to make himself needed, as soon as he found what he was looking for.

In a way the two of them are so much alike, they always want more and more and can't really get enough: Alfred can't get enough love and Mattie can't get enough money. But Mattie was his. He had been his from the beginning, even if he'd made Francis swear this would be a secret for all times. He loved him, he alone. He had accepted all his absurd terms, everything.

"Who was on the phone at this hour?" the young Canadian asked as he came back from the bathroom and sneaked back in bed next to him.

"Take a wild guess who it was," Francis mumbled, turning his back on the smaller blond. "He's worried about you, because you didn't call or something… He needs some fucking sleeping pills because of that. Because he can't sleep and he needs you and because he's just such a fucking princess!"

"Babe, you're not angry with me now, are you?" Matthew said gently, a hand resting lightly on the other's shoulder. "It's really not my fault he's like that… difficult I mean. And you know I don't care about him," he added, nuzzling his nose into the back of the Frenchman's neck.

"But you do care about his money! That you do care about. Otherwise you would have dumped him by now," Francis replied sharply.

"You know what? I'm sick and tired of this subject!" the smaller blond snapped back, getting out of bed."I really don't know for how long I'll be able to put up with all your jealousy and all this shit! What if I want his money? What's wrong with his money? Did you forget all the 'loans' you got from me and never returned? Did you, Francis?" he yelled getting dressed in a hurry.

"No, no, baby, listen to me! All I'm saying is…" the Frenchman began, but his lover left the room without a glance back and a moment later he heard him forcefully slamming the front door.

It was almost 3 A.M. when Matthew got back to his boyfriend's place. He dropped his keys on the small table in the hallway and listened carefully. No sound, the place was sunken in darkness. He sneaked into the bedroom and stooped over Alfred's sleeping form, unable to help noticing that even in his sleep his face had a sad expression. Well, he had really pushed it this time, and all because of Francis and his temper. Now he had to find a way to fix things, and fast.

He gently placed his lips onto the other blond's and caressed his hair, but that light touch was all it took for Alfred to wake up with a start and blink in confusion while his boyfriend hurried to switch on the lamp near the bed.

"Baby, I'm back! I missed you so much! Did you miss me?" he whispered embracing him. The American sat up rubbing his forehead and looked straight into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, but all he saw was his smile. He felt dizzy.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I tried to call you, but your cell phone was switched off and… What happened?"

"Oh, I'm sorry babe, there was a problem with the network in the area. I couldn't find a phone… That's why I got back earlier. I just felt I couldn't stay any minute longer away from you!" Matthew put his arms around his neck again and gave him a deep kiss, while the taller blond held him tight to his chest, almost finding it hard to believe that he was back, their hearts beating so close to each other.

Later on, Alfred fell asleep with him in his arms and dreamland claimed him once more.

Aunt Elaine's living-room, her deaf cat in the rocking chair. Shiny particles of dust floating in the last sunrays. She never did much cleaning, his mom used to say.

"Here sweetie, take a cookie with your tea."

Aunt Elaine laid a red tin box in front of him and Alfred stared sleepily at his own reflection in the polished lid. It was always so quiet in here, the silence absorbed all sounds.

"Aunt Elaine, why did Uncle Joe leave? I miss him…"

"I sort of miss him too, but I guess this just wasn't his place to be. And I was not the one for him."

"What do you mean 'the one', Aunt Elaine?"

The auburn-haired woman sat down next to him and embraced him gently while he laid his head on her shoulder.

"Alfred, there's something you should know, sweetie…Some things are meant to be, they are meant for us, and some aren't. So is the one. The one to share a piece of eternity with. In your heart you always know…"

Was she crying? He slowly pulled away from her arms. It was so odd to be a child again…

"Aunt Elaine, will I ever find the one? Will I?"

"For you it may be a bit difficult," she smiled kindly, "You're very special."

"That can't be good…" he said trying to smile back. Maybe he'd heard that too much, too often. "Is Mattie the one?"

"Oh my dear boy…"laughed Aunt Elaine, "all I'm saying is that not anyone can be the one. The one is always…um… how should I say?"

"Magical?"

"Oh dear God, not necessarily, but they should be as special as you. Or maybe you would like a witch?"

"And why wouldn't it be a fairy?"

"Because fairies do not exist, child."

Alfred woke up even more tired than he had been the night before. It was very early in the morning and a crude white light was breaking through the open window, hurting his eyes. He turned his head on the pillow to see Mattie asleep next to him, his features seemingly more distant and unreadable than ever. Suddenly, an odd sensation took over him - an icy cold shudder ran all over his skin for a few seconds, leaving him trembling. He remembered he had felt this before, in those days which seemed long forgotten. The creep, they called it. He pulled the covers around his body, trying to get warm and closed his eyes again.

Francis was determined to use the weekend out of town to leave all his thoughts and troubles behind and relax for a bit, even though he knew that it was unlikely. The road to Dr. Braginski's property took him through a huge forest, which looked absolutely spectacular as it was beginning to color itself in the golden shades of the approaching fall. Dr. Braginski had been his favorite teacher back at the university and by far the best psychologist he had ever met. They had been friends ever since, but still Francis had to admit that the Russian was a rather strange fellow. Original, some would say, he thought as he drove on. Indeed, one had to be quite original to buy a worthless property near a swamp, in the middle of nowhere, just for the sake of keeping a water plant greenhouse.

Dr. Braginski was waiting for him on the porch of an old wooden cottage, smoking his usual cigar. Also as usual, he looked completely out of place in the whole landscape.

"Francis! How long has it been since our last rencontre ?" Ivan Braginski said patting the young man on the back as he showed him into the small living.

"Too long, sir, too long," Francis replied patting him back. He had a sudden feeling that Ivan Braginski was the man who had the answer to all his problems.

Coming from the outside heat, the younger man was welcomed by a pleasant coolness inside the cottage. The plain look of the small wooden house was not at all Dr. Braginski's style, at least from the outside, but as expected, it was compensated by the interior, which was everything but minimal. The decorations of the living room were a bizarre mixture of paintings, wooden sculptures and old crippled furniture. The Frenchman moved around, examining every object from close, while Dr. Braginski watched him from the doorframe.

"Pretty impressive, da?" he said at last softly puffing his cigar.

"Yes, it's… I believe it's quite a collection here." Francis turned to face him. "Though I'm not sure what the theme is…"

"Well, this 'collection' is indeed very special," the Russian admitted. "But believe it or not, I just bought it together with the house and the rest of the property. The former owners just sold it and never came to pick up any of the stuff in here, da."

"What… all these paintings? I doubt they are worthless…."

To his surprise, his former teacher waved his hand dismissively. "Well, I don't know about that, they never preoccupied me beyond their sheer beauty and of course, their meaning, da," Dr. Braginski explained with a smile. "In fact, it was the former owner who made all this. It's all about one myth which seems to have obsessed him, the swamp witches."

"Swamp witches… never heard of that before," Francis said drawing closer to one of the paintings. It represented a young woman of surreal beauty in a water-green robe, gathering herbs in a basket, in a typical swamp landscape.

"Neither had I before buying this place. Here I found out everything about it," Dr. Braginski said taking out a book from the shelf and holding it up. "He even had books about this myth. Here, this one gives quite a detailed description of the facts. It seems that long ago there were three villages in the swamp area, but the houses were abandoned in time. Only this one and another closer to the lake remained - they're both on my property now, da. The book says that people in these villages believed in the existence of the swamp witches, who possessed the power to bring them both happiness and misfortune. They were worshipped like goddesses and sacrifices were made to them to win their favor. And you know what's most fascinating? The whole thing happened no earlier that the 19th century, which is incredible. There was not a single Christian church in these villages!"

Well, sure thing, Ivan Braginski was the man to always stumble onto bizarre stuff.

"You mean they were heathens, and they performed religious rituals for these witches? That is strange indeed!"

"Yes, well only human sacrifices, da. Very interesting… A procession was made at midnight and the victims were taken deep into the swamp, where they were tied up to a tree and blindfolded. They were simply left there, but they were never found again. Not a trace… " Dr. Braginski explained dragging another smoke. "The victims were young people, men and women alike. Never children, though. Almost every family had to make such a sacrifice at some point in their lives, apparently some sort of priest made the final choice each year, at the end of the summer or beginning of fall. About this time of year, da."

"Quite scary, I'll say," Francis replied with a wry smile, suddenly fighting a disturbing feeling in his gut.

The teacher appeared thoughtful, but otherwise unfazed. "Hmm, it's just a story, I tend to believe. An actual description or more details related to these witches cannot be found anywhere in these books. I find that unusual since every religion has some sort of depiction of their object of worship, da. The gods are always portrayed, one way or the other."

"But what about all these sculptures and paintings? They all have the same subject, these women, gathering herbs or taming water snakes. These must be the witches. Where's all this coming from?"

Braginski smiled lightly."Oh, there's nothing genuine in that, the sculptures were also made by the painter, da. He was definitely very talented, but all this is entirely the product of his imagination. The scary thing is, in my opinion, that he really believed all this nonsense. He was so much into it that he decided to offer himself to the witches. He sent a letter to his ex wife announcing his decision. They never found him, so my guess is that he probably drowned somewhere. But enough of this absurd story now. Let me show you the reason I bought this place, apart from the obvious freakiness of it all, da," the Russian laughed, puffing away his last smoke.

The tall ashen blond took his former student to the back yard where the greenhouse was located - a huge basin covered with a glass cupola. The access inside was made through one small door, which lead to a narrow cobblestoned path all around the basin. Different varieties of water lilies covered the water surface, in an enchanting mix of colors.

"I've been told the basin was inspired by a Claude Monet water lilies painting, da," Dr. Braginski commented as he showed Francis around. "As soon as I saw it, I just knew I had to have it".

The dinner had been simple and relaxing. Dr. Braginski had been as usual a perfect host. Afterwards they had sat on the porch and brought back memories over a glass of vodka. But now, as Francis lay in bed, he couldn't quite name to himself the reason why he had been unable to open up to his old friend and mentor. Why he couldn't speak up his mind, ask for an advice. Of course, he knew what Dr. Braginski's advice would be - that he should dump Matthew once and for all. He did not believe much in love and surely disapproved of this kind of obsessive thoughts. The Frenchman knew that he was alone in this and to solve this problem was his task and no one else's. As he lay with his eyes closed, the story of the painter came back in his mind - that man must have had pretty serious problems. He had lived there all alone, away from his family, in the middle of nowhere. As Dr. Braginski had said, more or less as a joke, this place was creepy as hell. The painter must have suffered a breakdown and taken refuge in this place and this… fantasy.

Breakdown. It happens to a lot of people. Many are on the edge. Alfred is on the edge… He said it himself… With these thoughts he finally drifted off to sleep.

To be continued