Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters and likenesses thereof. This is a fan-made work created purely for entertainment, and I am not in any way affiliated with the author or publishers. In other words: It's not mine! I'm just having fun with it!
A/N: This is that Halloween one-shot I mentioned a while back-just not in time for Halloween. A meditation on a question whose answer is often overlooked in fanfiction. Enjoy.
What is a homunculus?
Percy is barking at the rain. He is very loud for such a little dog, and he refuses to be silenced. I am surprised at him, really. He's never bothered by weather unless it is thundering, and I have not heard a single crack of that particular phenomenon. I almost want to smack him to shut him up, honestly—it has been a very long day—but whenever I feel that urge, I remember the way he cocks his head when he does not understand me, tiny pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he tries to figure out what I mean, and I cannot lay even a single finger on him.
I sigh and rest my head on my hands, trying to pop the bones in my back and shoulders. Something is out of alignment today—has been all day—and I hope that it will be gone by tomorrow. However, these things usually stay for a week at a time, and so I do not hold onto any kind of real hope for relief. Nonetheless, I crack my joints uselessly, for I must. I wonder sometimes what it is like for those who never experience this—those who are correctly built.
Percy is no longer barking. I look over to the window he is staring out of, and I fancy for a moment that I see someone… The illusion is gone as suddenly as it appeared, and I sigh, motioning Percy toward his bed in the corner of the room. He does not move, staring in the direction of the momentary apparition with an intensity that suggests fear. I move to pet him, but a low growl escapes his throat. I am suddenly uncomfortable, but all the glances I throw at the window as I go up the stairs are fruitless. It must be thunder that is too far away for me to hear.
The rain covers the growls as I reach the bedroom, and I have not lain across the bed for long before unconsciousness overtakes me.
I do not know what woke me—a sound, or perhaps a silence. The rain has stopped, but that is not what troubles me. What is missing—or is something new here? I have no idea, but the dripping of a faucet I know I turned off before I went to sleep doubles my unease. Somehow I find myself at the top of the stairs with my candle tightly gripped in my hand.
I do not know why I creep down my own hall like a burglar, but something in my gut will not permit my motion otherwise. I can hear my own heartbeat like a drum in the quiet, this unnatural quiet whose unsettling element I cannot quite place. The stairs creak under my weight, squealing my intent into the night.
A jarringly loud cacophony of voices suddenly bursts forth from the other side of the house, garish men and women singing a bright and happy tune that seems horribly out of place in this suddenly nightmarish situation.
I scream unabashedly at the sudden intrusion, and the radio turns off with an audible snap. A wind seems to blow through the house, taking my candle's light with it—and I am at the mercy of the night. Something brushed my arm.
"Hello?" I call into the emptiness, and the boards creak as I move forward, fumbling in the familiar space because I am shaking. The boards are slick now; I must be sweating profusely. There is a scraping to my right, and I am creeping, creeping toward the source of the noise—this is not funny in the slightest, and this stupid bastard will pay.
"Where is Percy?" The question jolts through me with nightmarish energy, turning my creeping into a running, and my coffee table leaps out of the darkness to bark me in the shins with astounding force. It should not be here; this is the kitchen, is it not? I feel for a counter, but all I touch is air. Where am I?
There is a striking of matches, and a doorway has lit up. I cannot tell what room it is, but I know that I must head toward it—he is in there, he must be in there. The door is slightly ajar, and I can feel the slick boards under my feet, threatening to make me fall in the products of my own terror—I just realized that there is not only sweat.
I stare at the door—my bathroom door, I realize, but somehow not my bathroom door.
Drip, drip, drip.
When is a door not a door? When it is a shield, I say—a wall protecting you from Them, They who have no names. I will shut it. I will pull it tight and lock it, sit against it so that They cannot come out. They will never get out, never get me, never!
"Where is Percy?"
He is crying, crying and I can hear.
I pull the door open.
Drip, drip, drip.
I have fallen in blood.
"Who are you?"
Thud.
"Percy!" It was at one point.
Whoosh.
It was above me. Now on me.
Slam.
Some of the blood is mine now.
"You bast—why?"
Slam. Gurgle.
"What… argggh..."
Hair. Teeth. Slice, rip, plop.
"… oo?"
Splat. Claws. Laughter.
One of Them.
A/N: The title is a German word... which defines my concept of Them. Wanna tell me what it means? XD Reviews mean much to me. I rated it T since the gore's mostly implied, but let me know if you think it was too much for that rating and I will consider your opinion. Envy is the perpetrator in this, as I can see him doing something like this if he felt bored and vindictive enough, but I didn't identify him in the fic as the narrator would have no way of knowing that. I feel a bit twisted for writing this... Oh, and was it scary enough?