Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or characters associated with Hetalia.
A.N. - Alright. But of a forewarning here. This chapter may bounce around a little. This chapter is also covering a time period of weeks, so some of the content will be a run down of what had been happening and whatnot. I hope it isn't as shizzy as i feel it is. I just wanted to speed things up a little and get to the main part of the story. Essentially cause I don't want to have this thing like, 20+chapters long. lol. I hope it doesn't suck too much!
While in hospital, Matthew seemed to pick right up. His illness fell from him, and the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with the man apart from the bite on his hand. A bite that was promptly cleaned thuroughly and stitched where needed, then wrapped lightly to keep it clean.
To say the least, Alfred was happy. Happy, and yet very confused. Matthew had been so incredibly sick lately. Being called home to look after him, watching as the male shivered on the couch in the day heat with a blanket wrapped around him. Cold sweats, fever, coughing and his in ability to keep food down. It was stressful. There was the odd few days where none of said symptoms bothered him, but those days were becomming fewer and fewer, and Alfred was starting to worry a lot about his lover.
"Al.. I'm okay. I'm fine." He said quietly. Helping himself into the car. Al frowned at him and sighed.
"Are you sure? You've been.. really sick lately. I don't want you to get hurt."
"Alfred-"
"What kind of hero would I be, if I let that happen?"
"AL! I'm okay! Look, I'm already in the car. If it makes you feel better, you can buckle me in." Unfortunately, Alfred took him seriously and did so. Double checking and making sure Matthew was comfortable before he went to the driver's side, and slipped in. Closing the door, he started the engine.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
The ride was just over twenty minutes. It was never a very long drive, and it was tolerable. Al commuted from their farm house, into the town to work. Matthew himself, usually did to. But that stopped. He hadn't been to work in over a month. Not since he started getting sick.
Al never noticed much, but Matthew did. As they got closer to the house, his chills started again. A weight, pressure, was building. Pressing down on him, and he felt heavier. It was growing. He felt weak by the time they rolled up to the house and parked. Mat shifted a little and closed his eyes. Frowning a little.
"Mat? Are you okay?" The blonde nodded, but was quickly paling. Al caught on and didn't push the matter. Instead he acted. He got out of the car and headed over to Mattie's side, opening the door, and helped his lover out. "Come on Matthew. Lets get you to bed. Okay?" Matthew nodded slowly and used Alfred to steady himself. How did the feeling return so fast?
Matthew lay in bed, bundled in sheets and quilts. Shivering to keep himself warm in a non-exsistant cold that Alfred couldn't understand. It scared him to be honest and he didn't know what to do anymore. It had already been a few weeks since the first trip to the hospital, and they had made several more since then. Each one proving absolutely nothing and it was to the point where Alfred was told to make an appointment. They didn't want Mattie in the emergancy room when others, clearly needed to be there more then he did.
And as if that wasn't enough, the poor American was now almost afraid of Matthew. His pale lover would lay in bed, staring off into space murmuring silent words. He had to move to sleeping on the couch aswell, since at night, he kept waking to find himself being kicked and hit. Each Matthew could be seen thrashing around. Almost as if he were having some sort of fit, or trying to beat something off of him. He saw nothing. Each time there was nothing there.
His lover wasn't making sense anymore. He wasn't making sense. He wasn't eating. He was often violent and would stare at Alfred unblinkingly from where he lay in the bed. Watching him and studying him almost as Al tried to feed him.
After the first visit to the hospital, things began to escalate. Dramatically at that. At first, it wasn't so bad, Matthew would feel sick as usual and throw up, shiver and shake. He would lay in fever, buried beneath the layers of cloth. Trying to keep warm and comfortable.
But soon, he was feeling a constant presence. A feeling of dread and hopelessness. An empty malicious feeling would constantly hover around his body. Around the room and at night, as he lay in bed sleeping with Alfred, it would come for him. Eyes would open, and his body would become paralyzed in fear. The temperature would drop and he could see his breath coming in puffs. Alfred of course, never experienced this. For some reason or another, he seemed immune, and it actually angered Matthew in those moments.
He would look to the bedroom door and watch as the doorknob turned in a painfully slow manner. There was a click and a low creak as the door swung open. Eyes wide in terror, Matthew lay still and could only watch as a boney old hag slipped through the doorway. Clad in bloodstained rags, the boney hag with an ever changing face and rigid movements, began to climb the wall. A jerking hesistation in each and every movement as she scaled the smooth surface. Matted grey locks would hang loosely, spilling soil and spiders to the floor. Her bones creaking until she finally met the ceiling.
The young blonde wanted to cry out in horror, he wanted to move and wake Alfred up. He wanted to be saved, but he couldn't move. Not one inch of his body, could he move. But god how his mind screamed and pleaded for it. She crawled along the ceiling like a filthy, diseased fly. Movements suddenly rapid and well managed. Silent as the grave and the moment she was above him, she stopped. Coming to a hault as her head, with every broken grating sound cracking as she spun it to look down on Matthew. Her face took shape of a white smooth mask. Her body turned and she let go.
Falling down to land on his pelvis. Legs straddling him, her hands on his chest, and her hips grinding against him slowly. The face then began to morph as she got in closer. The wreak of rotted flesh, burning in the summer's heat under a baking sun, filled the room, and burned his notrils to the point of bleeding. She leaned down, her face now looked like that of Alfred's.
Matthew tried to scream out. The pressure under her immense weight was crushing, regardless of how small she was. The weight was painful, and he tried thrashing to get rid of her. She only continued to smile at him, flashing rotted teeth that did not suit the face that she wore. Her breath was putrid, like the stench of sewers. Thick and oily black saliva, like a mysterious ooze, hung from those chapped and bleeding lips and dangled dangerously over his open, silently screaming mouth.
Meanwhile, Alfred rolled over to wrap his arm around his lover, but when he found the body stiff and cold, his eyes shot open. Matthew was laying on his back, his body being pressed down into the mattress, and he was staring up at what appeared to be the ceiling. A horror stricken expression on his face.
"MATTIE!" He tried shaking him, he tried to snap him out of it. "Mat, please! Stop it! You're scaring me!"
He made no reply. Why couldn't Alfred see it? His violet eyes started watering and the black ooze fell into his mouth. It spread and coated the inside of his throat. Coating down to his stomach, feeling it mesh into his system. The creature disappeared, and Matthew gasped. Inhaling sharply, gaining the air he so desperately needed. Lungs expanding and contracting to take in air while the pressure left. The cold, everything. Gone.
"Oh my God! Mattie!" Alfred flung his arms around Matthew and held him tightly. Rocking him to benefit them both. To sooth and reassure.
The two didn't return to their bedroom. They didn't sleep. They instead, sat up in the kitchen until dawn broke. Every light had been turned on in the house. At this point though, Alfred wasn't concerned about the power bill. He could care less, he was more worried about what Matthew had told him. What he had seen and felt. What the thing had done to him.
Alfred spent part of the time in the kitchen simply hugging his boyfriend close, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head.
"Matthew, its okay." He tried. "It's okay, we will figure this out, and you will get better. I promise. I will save you and I won't rest until then." The blonde in his arms was shaking a little. The young man held a hand to his throat, terrified of what had happened.
"Alfred..." He started. It was a small squeak of a voice compared to normal. One of a person in distress. Fear and trauma. Violated beyond logical explanation.
"What is it?" He asks softly, still rocking him in his arms. Wishing there was more he could do for him. No, not wishing, planning. Thinking. Thinking of what things he could do to save his little Mattie. His Matthew. Not some creepy, oozey, fucking invisible old hag. He wanted to punch that ghost thing in the face for making his Matthew so scared. For doing such scary things, and just all around being a scary thing.
"... She had your face.." He whimpered.
A.N. Okay! Seriously, I don't know what the hell that was. This is what I get for watching a combination of every single ghost/haunting/possession/evil movie that I own (and that is A LOT) and National Geographic and Discovery documentaries on possession and whatnot (yus.. I'm obsessed with that stuff, regardless of how it keeps me paranoid and awake at night)
I'm sorry this one is short, I'm sorry its.. um.. less then adequate in regards of submissions. I know it was jumpy and choppy XDD Just bear with me. Now that the initial act has happened, things will flow better and be easier.