"Francis, where did you put my shirt?" Arthur Kirkland asked, rummaging through a pile of clothes on the floor.
"Which one?" inquired the blonde Frenchman lying on the bed. He was currently flipping through a Playboy magazine, stopping to touch himself every so often.
"You know the one. The short-sleeved one with the Union Jack on it, of course!" Arthur snapped at his roommate. "It's my favorite. And stop with the Playboy, you disgusting pig!"
Francis put the magazine down and smirked up at the younger man. "Why do you need that particular shirt? To go with your black vest and the tie with the skulls on it? That's a pretty sexy outfit, Angleterre. Let me guess, you've got a date with that Alfred boy, hm?"
Arthur blushed. "Don't call it a 'date'! We're just going to a concert! As friends. Do you hear me? FRIENDS." To emphasize this, he gave a hard kick to the Frenchman's bed.
The bearded man snickered. "Okay, okay. Whatever keeps the tears away, Angleterre."
Arthur rolled his eyes, then spotted a bolt of red, white, and blue cloth. "My shirt!" He yanked the shirt from under his bed and put it on, sliding the black vest and tie over it. "There. Now Francis, I'll be out late, so don't expect me back until, say, around 2 AM."
"Have fun on your DATE, Angleterre!" Francis called. Arthur, not even turning around, responded with a stiff middle finger and shut the door behind him.
Later that night, after some more perverted activity poorly disguised as studying, Francis decided to go to bed. "Hm..." he said, looking at the clock. "It's past 2 AM. Heh, maybe Angleterre got lucky with his American friend, non?" He was about to close his eyes when he heard a loud gurgling sound at the door.
Francis was many things, but he wasn't stupid. A sound like that at his door in 2 in the morning, well, that was just screaming 'Hey dude, get your French ass out of here before you end up like a horror movie victim!' So, he slid quietly out of his bed and into the closet, locking it soundly. He could hear his heartbeat pounding violently in his chest. The sound was coming closer and closer still until whatever or whoever it was was right outside the dorm room. Francis struggled not to cry out as he heard the thing scratching at the door, ceaselessly.
The Frenchman was afraid to move, save for trembling in fear of course. 'Stop it' he begged in his mind 'Just go away, s'il vous plait...' The scratching and clawing at the door seemed to last forever, though. Finally, Francis just fell asleep in the closet, the sounds of gurgling and scratching echoing in his ears.
That next morning, Francis gathered up enough courage to open the door. Slowly, cautiously, he got out of the closet and opened the door.
Arthur lay in front of the door, his throat slit deeply. His fingers and nails were split and bleeding from scratching at the door for help.
