I've never been in my basement before.
I've gone into every nook and cranny in my two-story home painted yellow with white trim and a weather-vain and birds almost perpetually perched on the roof. But I've never been in the basement. It's become something of an unspoken rule ever since I moved in. I don't know when I came up with it, or even when I noticed that after three years of residing in the same house I'd been everywhere in it except for one place.
But once I did consciously decide this, that made me want to venture in there even less.
Once when Alfred came over he saw the door and asked me, "What's down there?"
"I don't know," I answered.
He didn't ask if I wanted to go down and find out. He just dropped the subject completely and we never spoke of it again. I believe that maybe, even though we didn't think much of it at the time, he knows what I know. That the basement is a dangerous place. It is a sinister, vile place where everything that is evil and terrible lurks around every corner and under every floorboard. I'm not sure how I came to that conclusion, but I know as surely as I know that my name is Matthew Williams and that I am Canada, that I will never go into that basement.
oOo
Matthew… Matthew…
It knows my name.
I used to hear it when I would walk past. It would hiss like a snake as it flicked freezing air at me from under the flimsy wooden door. My heart would speed up, my throat would constrict and I could barely breathe. I ignored it as best I could.
Then one day I heard eerie and strangled screams from the other side. I don't walk by anymore- I run. I avoid that section of the house as much as I can so that I won't hear it whispering my name or screaming, and so I won't feel that growing wonder - What does live down there?
oOo
It's seven o'clock. At seven o'clock every day I make the journey from the kitchen to my office to do paperwork. I don't want to go, doing paperwork is no fun anyway, but it's part of my job. I have millions of people depending on me. So I have to go. I have to pass by the basement door.
"This old man, he played one. He played knickknack on my thumb," I sing whenever I'm near there so I won't be so scared. "With a knickknack pattywack give a dog a bone, this old man came rolling home."
I'm almost halfway down the hall, when I hear it. It starts out soft at first, as if it's not quite sure if I'm even there. But once it feels my heartbeat and the fear radiating off of me in waves it knows I'm there and gets louder.
Matthew…Come here…Matthew…
Come here? It's never said that before. I stop dead in my tracks. What do I do? I'm not listening to it's request, obviously, but is it really wise to continue down the hall? The stack of government papers in the office can wait until tomorrow right?
No. No they can't. I refuse to let that…it… down there get in the way of my duties as a country. Even if the government is going to do whatever it wants regardless of whether or not I give them permission.
So I square my shoulders and keep walking though the calls get louder and louder until they're all I can hear even if they're still only a whisper. Suddenly, it opens, just an inch. I freeze for the second time in the past minute. It stays that way, suspended there, even as icy cold air whooshes out at me, blowing my hair back and making me cough because it's dusty and thick.
SLAM! I nearly jump out of my skin, and I can't contain a gasp as it forcibly shuts itself. My mind is screaming at me to run, to get out of the house and never come back, but I can't. I can't move, I can't think. All I can do is stare and stare and stare at the door until I realize it's coming towards me.
What? What's happening? Its getting bigger and closer and louder too. Come here…Come here… And my heart is beating as if I'd just run a marathon but my breathing is slow and even. I start to count my breaths for some reason until I loose count around seven because I can't focus enough to keep track. And everything is getting sort of blurry and I can't feel my limbs anymore and I'm suddenly aware that I'm really sleepy even though I was fine a few minutes ago.
The door is getting closer. It's getting closer because I'm moving towards it, and for some reason I know that that's a bad thing but… I can't think… and…and I don't know why… but…what was I talking about…?
My hand touches metal. I snap into awareness and I try to let go and jump back. But I find that my body won't obey me anymore. My hand opens the door slowly, shaking. The hinges creek and groan. I look down into the darkness of the basement, unable to see past the third step.
I'm not going down there., I mentally tell it, somehow knowing that it will hear me. An invisible force crashes into my shoulder and I'm plunged into the blackness
I didn't know it was possible for the world to spin even when you can't see it, but it is. My head hits the steps, then my back, then I'm twisted around and my knees hit then I'm falling so fast I can't even tell where I'm falling or what's getting hit because everything hurts so terribly I can't keep tabs on all the individual injuries and it won't end, it's just a chorus of bang! bang! bang! and I swear I can hear someone laughing. Laughing as I fall down the steps.
Then there's nothing.
No sound, no noise. Nothing. Am I still alive? I blink several times, so I guess that means yes.
Matthew…
Oh God, it's still here. I stand as quickly as I can without falling over. "W-who are you?" My voice cracks twice despite my best efforts to sound like I'm not afraid. "What do you want?" What am I going to do? It certainly won't let me leave will it? I'll be stuck here until…actually, since I can't die, I could be in here forever! Not good, this is not good at all.
You're going to do me a little favor. I back up a few steps on instinct; I hadn't honestly expected an answer. But what could a basement possibly want from me? It's just a room. An extremely evil room that could very well intend to use my skin as wallpaper and my innards to hang from the ceiling, not that I'm even thinking about things like that right now because I'm not. I'm not even considering what I'll look like with my arms and legs ripped from my body, or how awful it is that I know I would live through that.
I need something. It says in that hissing, whisper-like tone.
"What?"
There's a loud growl and a crash and clawing and more growling like a wild animal. A dim light flickers on from out of nowhere, but I'm too scared of whatever is behind the far wall, whatever is trying to tear down the wall, to wonder where that light came from.
I scream and fall back. My hand burns in pain instantly, and when I pick it up I see that a piece of broken glass has lodged itself into my palm. Blood is everywhere. That only makes the thing behind the wall go nuts. It's ripping and grinding and scratching and clawing at the wood.
Blood. I need blood…
I gulped. "You- you need what?" I must have misheard. It did not just say what it sounds like it said.
A roar comes from behind the wall, and I know I've just given a horribly wrong answer. Come on Canada. Try not to get yourself murdered today, okay? Is that really too much for you?, I think. Okay, okay, I need to do something. I have to give it what it wants, right? Or it'll get out, right? Wait, how did I know that?
Whatever, I'll figure that out later. Right now I just need to do something and stop just standing here with a stupid blank look on my face!
But…blood? Where the heck am I supposed to get blood? Maybe…we have a slaughter house right across town. As awful as it sounds I'm sure they would sell me a few gallons of cow blood if I asked for it.
You stupid, feckless child. I don't want the blood of swine! it says, more like yells at me, because its voice raises. Only, it doesn't raise, not literally, because sometime in all this (and I'm not quite sure when) I stopped hearing the voice out loud and began hearing it in my head. It's ringing in my ears and makes my brain feel like little elves with sledgehammers have taken up residence in my skull. It hurts quite a bit, now that I think of it- but somehow that revelation pales in comparison to my other one: there is a demon in my basement, and it can get into my head! It is talking to me, not aloud, but in my brain. If that doesn't make the list of 'worst things that could possibly happen' I don't know what does.
I close my eyes and try to block it out. Maybe if I concentrate, I can keep it from talking to me. Granted, that could also be a terrible idea that will end up backfiring when it breaks out, eats my face, and goes on a bloody rampage through the country. But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. So I picture a wall going up around my brain, keeping anything the creature has to say to me out. Unfortunately, I quickly learn that putting up barriers like that takes practice, which I've had none of. It crushes my feeble attempt at a mental fortress in a second. Listen to me! Ouch, he is seriously starting to give me a headache. I need fresh, warm blood. I need the blood of Canada… and you are going to give it to me.
What?
What?
He…it…and…I can't…
Oh my God…
"No!" But its no more than a whisper because I'm so scared I can barely speak. Even as I say it though I know that there are no other options. If I don't give it my blood, the blood of Canada, it'll come take the blood itself. I am sure of this. The same way I knew not to go into the basement (yeah, and look where that got me), I know that the demon (because that's exactly what it is) will get what it wants whether I give it willingly or not.
I stand again, feeling its nonexistent eyes boring holes in me. I rip the shard of glass out of my palm before I have any time to think about it. Because if I honestly had any time to consider all this I'd be halfway across town by now. But I can't run from this problem; I've been avoiding it for three years, and now it's forcing me to deal with it.
I walk to the wall, trembling and barely managing not to fall over, and smear my bloody hand across it. The demon's growling and frantic clawing from the other side subside slightly and I streak it down the same section. Stabs of pain shoot through my whole arm again, but I clench my teeth through the throbbing. I blink back tears that threaten to spill over; I refuse to cry. I will not give that thing the satisfaction of knowing that he has just snapped something in me that I'm not sure can ever be fully repaired.
The blood isn't coming as fast now after the fourth or fifth time; I think it might be starting to scab over. Can't have that now can we? Taking the glass in my left hand, I gasp as I rake it through the skin. Within seconds more blood bubbles to the surface. It drips off my fingers and pools in my palm. I put my hand to the wood slowly this time and keep it there, letting red liquid slide down the wall. When I pull away there's a wet handprint to mark the spot.
I feel like a child playing with bright red finger-paints. Another few smears, then another (pain-filled) cut. Repeat.
I can't do this much longer. It hurts so much, and I'm starting to get dizzy and I'm scared. Really, truly scared- maybe more than I've ever been in my entire life. But the creature behind the wall is all but silent. Maybe I've placated it for now. Maybe I can be rid of it forever. I simply can't keep doing this though.
But…do I have a choice? I glance from my hands to the wall and back again. No, I don't have a choice. I slash my hand a third time (or is it a fourth? The pain is making it all run together) and close my eyes for a second after another wave of vertigo hits. Then I hear a thud and think I must have passed out for a few minutes because when I open them again I'm on the cold cement floor, the blood on my skin is almost completely dry, and I'm sure my little 'donation' wasn't enough.
As I sit up, the creature only confirms my fears. Better hurry Matthew. Better run before the wall dries completely. Because you don't want to know what will happen if it does. Two hours.
How? I don't have enough blood in my entire body to keep the wall wet. So what can I do? I can't use the life fluid of animals, especially when the demon can get in my head and know if I'm lying to it. That means getting it from a hospital is out too- their blood isn't fresh enough. Think Mattie. It needs the blood of Canada… but does that necessarily mean literally me Canada? Or someone from Canada?
NO! No no no no. That will never happen! Not in a million years. I can't…murder my people. Kill them to save them from it. The mere thought makes me slam my head into the wall as if I could physically knock it out of my mind. In hindsight that probably wasn't the best idea after having just woken up from passing out from blood-loss.
I only have two hours before life as we know it comes to a screeching halt, and I have to do something! Wow, I'm starting to sound like Alfred here. Wait; Alfred! I could call him. Maybe he'll know what to… no. This is my problem, not his. I can't drag him into this as terrifying as it is to be so completely alone.
So I have two options. One: do nothing and hope the demon is bluffing. Not gonna happen. Option two: go and…and…gosh, I can't even think it.
Is there anything else? Two hours. Two hours. I have two hours. What else can I do in two hours? I run through hundreds of possibilities in my head, each one more ridiculous than the last. In the end I'm forced to come to a conclusion- the conclusion I knew I'd end up at, but the one I was hoping would never be true. Nothing. I can't believe I'm thinking this, but there isn't one thing I can do to stop this except…
Kill someone.
I, Matthew Williams, am going to leave this house an innocent man and come back a murderer.
oOo
And end chapter 1!
This is my first Hetalia fanfiction, so let me know if I have Canada in character. I want to know what you think. Was it silly? Should I even continue it? Seriously, flame away if that's what this thing deserves, but I can't know how to make it better unless you tell me.
By the way, the idea of this fanfic was based (very very loosely) on something else. Kudos to anyone who can guess what it is, but I'll tell you all later anyway if no one gets it.
Love,
earth warrior
P.S. Insert witty disclaimer.