Chapter Thirty-six

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Time: 16:09

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"Whoa, what's this pudgy thing?"

The attic was oddly quiet for the amount of nations stuffed into one room. The group of explorers – England, Germany, Malta, Russia, Japan, America, and Canada – were gathered around the empty wall where the bookshelf had previously been, the place where the mochi was stuck in the wall. Russia was kneeling on the ground closest to the little white creature, poking it in the cheek and watching it squirm under his touch. He had been the one who spoke, and he would have said something else if he hadn't been pushed to the side by a very amazed America.

"It's a mochi," Malta explained, standing back and watching her friends marvel at the oddity trapped within the drywall. Japan didn't say anything in response, so she assumed that Andorra had been right in her observation. "Andorra found it stuck in the wall like this short after we got here. We tried getting it out, but it wouldn't budge. I almost forgot that it was even here!"

Her words flew right over America's head, however, as he ogled at the creature in pure amazement. "Have you guys ever seen such a revolutionary creature? It's fantastic!" He reached out to pet the mochi's head, and the creature affectionately nuzzled his hand. It seemed to have taken a liking to him.

"We probably have to get it out later," Canada stated, tempted to drag his brother away from the mochi by the collar of his jacket. "We still have the rest of the mansion to search through, and it doesn't look like there's anything interesting in here."

"Yeah." Malta glanced back at the mochi as the group filed out of the room. "We'll help you soon, so just hold on a little longer, okay?"

The group spent about thirty minutes more searching through every room they passed without finding a single piece of possible evidence. Despite so many disappointments, they continued their search in the basement, where they hoped that they would finally find their answer. They found themselves not too long after that in the large cell room, the chill of their friend's traitorous deed still hanging in the room.

"We could try opening the box again," Malta pointed out, gesturing halfheartedly at the wooden box in the corner of the cell. The last time the idea had come up, they had been betrayed, so no one was exactly keen on going in there and trying again. Nevertheless, the group slipped into the cell and a few re-examined the crate while the rest stood behind, watching.

"Before we were locked in here," Canada muttered, "Yugoslavia said something about there being hope in this box. What could she have meant by that?"

"Hope?" This was new to everyone present, and their voices didn't hide the surprise and confusion.

"Maybe…" Japan tapped his chin thoughtfully. "…Maybe she was doing it for our sake. She must have deliberately arranged "a hope to escape" when she locked us up in this cell."

America glanced up from his place kneeling by the box, pausing in his attempts to pry the thing open with his bare hands. "But she also said that the box was empty. Wouldn't it have just been a trick to lock us up?"

"That makes more sense," Germany said through gritted teeth. He was trying, but failing, to rip the wood from the ground. "It won't move anyway."

No one had noticed England standing back from the box, staring at it with a bewildered yet calculating gaze. He only got their attention when he spoke up. "…Wait a minute, Germany. This is a little odd." He pushed past the nations in his way and lightly touched the top of the box, glaring at it like he could see through the wood. "…Sorry. You probably won't get it, but this…this has some of my magic too."

"Your magic?" Russia tilted his head to the side, pretending like he actually believed him. "You mean this belongs to you?"

"No. Give me a minute. Maybe I can lift this spell…" He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, making a few small gestures with his hands as he spoke. After a few seconds, something inside the box made a faint click like the sound of a lock opening. A thump followed, along with a tiny shower of green sparks that quickly dissolved into the air.

Japan didn't notice the sparks, even though they had landed right beside his foot. "It made a sound. Should we try opening it?"

"Only one way to find out!" America prepared himself for the previous strength of the box, holding tightly to the corners of its top. Ice cream ice cream ice cream ice cream… He was about to give it a good tug when a sudden chill swept through him, freezing him on the spot. His mind started to panic; he'd heard so many times that people only felt chills like that when ghosts were in the room.

"…the…y…"

The others much have felt it too, because a collective gasp was sucked from the room. Either that, or they noticed the transparent image of a certain blonde-haired nation standing just outside the bars, staring in at them.

"What?"

"E-England?!"

England himself was shocked into silence. He just kept staring at the ghostly image of himself from across the room, not quite sure of how to respond to it. As far as he was concerned, he was just about to start some kind of time paradox.

"…and… it!" The image was speaking, but its words sounded garbled and weak, like a phone call with bad reception, minus the static.

"W-what is this? Why am I there?!" England's mind was working in overtime to try and figure all of this out, but all it was accomplishing was giving him a headache.

"Hush," Japan warned, holding out a hand toward the confused Brit. "He's saying something."

The image must have gotten something straightened out, because he finally started speaking clearly. It was then that the nations noticed his state: tired, bloodied, tearstains running down his cheeks. He must have been crying very recently, but it wasn't evident in his voice. "My…my future self who is watching this! There is no time to explain much." He glanced behind him, possibly expecting another Thing to leap out at him from the shadows. "If by any chance she dies, find the journal! Find the watch! In return, you'll get his memories as well as our lives. Go back without fail! Go back in time! Sa…Yu…" With its final words said, the image faded away in a brief cloud of green-tinted mist.

Silence.

Infinite silence.

"…Wow." America stared at the where the mysterious figure just stood, unable to say anything else but the word. "Well that happened."

"Er, England?" Canada tried locking eyes with the Brit, but he had his gaze lowered toward the box. "You were pretty worn out. What happened?"

"Journal… Does that mean –" Japan paused, going over the image's words in his mind. "Wait a minute. It never mentioned a name. It only said she. Who could he have meant?"

Malta stuffed her hands in her pockets, getting the strangest feeling that she knew who he had been talking about. Who's the only she here with a journal?

Germany muttered, "So, that was a message to England in the future? He said something about going back in time or something like that."

"He also told us to find the journal," Russia added, "whatever that may be."

"My future self…" The look on England's face said that the concept was actually starting to make a little sense. Was he talking about what I think he was…?

Japan crossed his arms slightly. He had seen a horror movie like this where everyone died in the end, so he really didn't like where this was going. "But everyone here is still alive, including the girls. And the journal…that's not very specific, is it?"

While everyone else strained their minds trying to figure the image's message out, America had opened the box, peering inside to examine its contents. "Hey, there's actually something in here!"

This made the others flinch away from their thoughts and crowd around the box once again to see whatever America had just found. Malta wasn't sure what she had been expecting – some kind of map, maybe, or a cryptic message telling of the past of this mysterious mansion and the only way to escape alive. Nope. All that was in the box was a clock, worn bronze just like all the others, and a small, thick piece of paper.

"It's a clock," Russia observed, taking the timepiece in one hand and turning it over to examine it, its hands lying still across its cold, lifeless face. "The usual thing."

Malta carefully eyed the paper at the bottom of the box, reaching out to pick it up when no one else would. She could see the triangular flap fixed to the paper on the back, and on the front was three words written in black ink with oddly shaky handwriting. You will know. "And a letter. It has no address, but it's in Yugo's handwriting, I know it." The envelope looked a bit old and worn, but there was no way it could have been beaten up that much in the time they were in the mansion. Even so, she slipped it into her pocket. I'll give it to her later.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Canada asked, glancing at the faces of those surrounding him.

"Why don't we break the clock?" Malta didn't seem to notice the startled looks of her friends when she mentioned the idea, even as she took the clock from Russia. "I mean, it's just a suggestion, but it could tell us something."

America had his hands knit together in front of him, his gaze flicking from Malta to the clock in her hands. "What? Wh-what do you mean by that?"

"…I dunno. I just have this feeling that it's hiding the clue that past-England just gave us. Besides, whenever we break a clock, I can catch a glimpse of stuff that happens in the future…"

"Is that so?" The future… Does this mean that she saw off of this coming? Why didn't she bloody say something sooner? "Well then, let's break it. We've got to fix time, anyway.

America was still on edge, and tried to snatch the clock away from Malta before she could do anything. But he couldn't, for she moved it away before he could. "Wait! I don't –"

Too late, Malta threw it on the ground, watching the glass crack under the impact, then smashed the thing with her foot to make sure it was destroyed. As she shook the shards of glass from the sole of her shoe, a darkened haze started to cover her eyes. It creeped in from the corners of her eyes, throwing her vision into a void of pure black.

"Malta! Malta, are you okay?"

That was the last thing she heard before the world spun out from beneath her.

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I have been through many time loops now, although I can barely remember how many anymore – I stopped counting after I reached number twenty. In fact, my memory is exactly the problem right now. Earlier today, I woke from a supposed unconsciousness with nearly all of my memories erased from my mind, possibly the result of a head wound I had somehow received prior. The only things that I could remember were Italy and this journal. After being surrounded by several people I do not know, I had spent the remainder of my day either bedridden or confining myself to a small corner of what has been described as our "safe room" with Italy (who, somehow, looks much older than I last remember) trying to persuade me to speak. I said nearly nothing, though. I was – and am – still trying to gather my thoughts.

Since that moment, my memories have been swiftly returning to me. Some are bright and clear, to the point where I can see every grass blade and every leaf on the surrounding trees; others are grainy and hard to see. But no matter what, I can not recognize anyone in my memories or in this room with me. I can not match faces to names, or voices to actions. Every face in my memories has been blurred out, as if they were purposefully trying to make me confused. As for who "they" are, I do not know.

I remember only two of my companions in this "safe room." There is Italy, the bubbly brunet I know from my time working at Mr. Austria's house, my first and only real friend. And then there is Cousin Russia, still in possession of the scarf given to him a long time ago. It must have been a while since I have last seen him, because he has grown to be extremely tall now. Besides them, there are eleven others here, three female, the rest male. Though they all look at me with sympathy, seven appear to be personally hurt by my condition – emotionally, not so much physically. The three girls, two brunettes, one with dark auburn hair; Italy and Russia; a quiet young man whose appearance is almost identical to that of the loudest of the group; and a blonde man with surprisingly thick, dark eyebrows. The last man looks the most hurt, as if it was his fault alone that this has happened. I can not stand to look him in the eyes. The one time I did, the sheer fear in his eyes made me see red. There was an infinite number of emotions buried in those emerald-green orbs, most pertaining to pain, sadness, and guilt. But there was also a tiny spark of something, an emotion that only appeared when his gaze fell upon my face, that I can not explain.

This all looks so familiar to me. Why can I not remember? Why can I not do anything to help myself? As these moments pass, I can also remember more and more of Him. I have begun to suspect that He has something to with all of this, even though I have very little facts to support my claim. Several of these people have just left to search the house, and when they thought I was not listening, I had heard them talk about "the Thing" that is supposedly somewhere in this place with us. Could this "Thing" possibly be Him? If it was, why call Him a "Thing" at all? This is all very confusing to me.

The girl with the auburn hair is asking me to sleep. Apparently I have exerted myself too much today, and her claim is confirmed by Italy, who still has barely left my side. I feel like I should know her, somehow, but I have no idea how. …Maybe I should get a little rest. It will hopefully clear my mind a bit more, as long as the nightmares stay away.

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Players: 14

Survivors: 14

Missing: 0

Deceased: 0

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