England's phone was ringing. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and stared at it sceptically. What the hell? He had tried to call almost everyone earlier, but it had always said there was no signal.

He slowly sat down at the top of the stairs. The ringing wouldn't stop, somehow sounding in harmony with the creaks and groans of the old school.

It did not say who was calling, oddly enough, and England's thumb hovered over the dial button. It seemed silly, but he didn't want to know who was on the over end, he really didn't. But…

…The phone was still ringing. It should have stopped a long time ago.

With a shuddered breath, and fighting against a growing sense of dread, England answered the phone.

"H-Hello…?"

An emotionless, but all too familiar voice answered, "Angleterre…"

All apprehension and fear immediately vanished.

"France?! All right, Frenchie, where the hell are you? I have searched this school all over, so do you mind telling me where you disappeared to? If you're sulking somewhere just because I yelled at you, then I swear…!" England left the threat hanging, allowing himself to catch his breath and calm down for a second.

There was no answer.

"…France? Seriously now, where are you?" He sighed. "Listen, it's dangerous for us to be alone. That shadow is probably still around, and it's very likely that it will try to attack again. We might always argue, but at least if we're together there's a better chance of fighting it off if it appears…"

Still no reply.

"What? Do you want me to apologise? Well, fine!" England yelled. "I'm very sorry for hurting your oh so precious feelings. I didn't realise you were such a drama queen. I thought it wouldn't matter since we have said much worse things to each other before, but it looks like I was wrong!"

Nothing. And then…

A chuckle.

It was quiet at first, but eventually the Frenchman's once familiar laughter was almost hysterical. It echoed and bounced off the walls of the previously silent school.

Slowly, the English nation pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared. What…? Why…?

In a moment of sudden panic, England practically jammed his finger onto the end call button. Nothing happened. The laugher continued. He pressed it again, and again, and again, his actions growing more and more frantic each time, but it didn't work.

The laughter wouldn't stop.

England couldn't take it anymore. With a frustrated and slightly panicked grunt, England threw the phone down the stairs, the laughter following it all the way down. It only stopped when the phone hit the ground and the screen smashed.

He panted, arm still outstretched. What was going on…?

He was shaking, he realised. England found he was holding himself as he stared down at his broken phone.

C-Calm down…he told himself. It…It was just a joke. France was just trying to make a fool out of you! But it won't work, of course. So just calm down…Goddammit, that frog owes me a new phone…

England stood up warily. What could he do? He was pretty sure he had searched every available inch of the school. All the ghosts he had talked to had offered him practically the same morbid message. There was no sign of a way out.

...But he couldn't give up. He had to find America and everyone else. Maybe France too, but that idiot was irritating him more than normal. Besides, he was probably still around somewhere…The ghost had said it was impossible to leave this place, so he had to be…right?

His phone was lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, a few pieces of its shattered screen surrounding it, and he looked down at it curiously. Should he get it back? It was obviously broken, but…maybe it was still useable? At the very least, someone might be able to fix it…

He took a careful step down the stairs, and immediately regretted it. The floorboards groaned and collapsed almost immediately, and England swayed forwards, desperately waving his arms for balance. It was a useless effort, however, and he tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs.

There was a loud snap as he painfully hit the ground.

That…Don't tell me that was my leg…England thought, wide eyed. D-Dammit! Why…Why is this happening?! Why…?

He attempted to push himself up. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Even if his leg was okay, he was going to have many bruises.

Groaning slightly, England sent a glance to the other end of the room. He stared.

Was…Was that…?

"I-Italy…?"

*Gasps* But is this a good thing? Or…a bad thing? I wonder, I wonder…

Another short chapter :( I didn't have much time though, and I wanted to update, but I'm sorry…

Well, please review and tell me what you think ^_^