Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, because if I did, it would be a train wreck to the power of ten...
The screaming wouldn't stop. No matter how hard I tried to block it out, it always came back...always...
They came for me last night. They dragged me down the halls, kicking and screaming, putting me on the cold metal table that has seen nothing but death. They cut me open, sewn me up with the horrid sutures, uneven and carelessly put.
I don't know how much longer I can take it here. The clamps, the flames, the screams, all driving me slowly to the brink of insanity...God help me.
I can feel myself slipping further with each passing hour, day, week? I can't tell anymore...The madness is starting to drag me into the dark oblivion, with no intent of ever coming back...
Matthew closed the diary, wondering where this place was, the place of never-ending screams, on-going horror, torture chamber...he had found the diary in his great-grandfather's belongings and read a little bit each day, no matter how horrific, this day being a particularly horrendous one.
Tracing his finger over the peeling leather, that looked suspiciously bloodstained, he latched it, put it back in its rightful secret spot and headed down the ladder, out of the attic. You see, Matthew hasn't told his parents or brother about the diary, for his own irrational reasons. You could say that he was afraid they'd take it away, or worse, read it, knowing full well that he had been snooping around in someone's personal memoir.
Clambering downstairs for dinner, he stopped halfway, almost collapsing from the smell that had full-on rammed his innocent nostrils. Lifting his shirt to act as a gasmask (yes it was that bad) he cautiously headed downstairs to see what the hell was going on. For all he knew, there was a dead body roasting on the stove. Rounding the last corner, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight in front of him. His mom, as much as he loves her, has tried cooking. As the stereotype that the mom's cook dinner for everyone goes, it did not apply to this family. In fact, it was one of the most important rules to never let Mom cook. Ever. Anytime she tried cooking one of her 'famous scones', it always ended up in a war zone, much like the one he was presented with at the moment.
The stove was covered in a green mixture that seemed to be....glowing?? Pots and pans were scattered about, most bent at odd angles that were not supposed to be achieved by these cooking utensils. There was smoke shrouding the area, a pile of black...coal? Wait, no...It was her so-called 'cooking'. Where was Papa? Where was Alfred? Most importantly, where the heck were the fire extinguishers?
This was going to be a long night...
..."finally! That's done, so now we can actually start dinner mon amour." Papa had just finished picking up the kitchen, and after a thorough lecture given to Mom, she had reluctantly agreed to never cook in the kitchen. We'll see how long that lasts...It was already around nine and everybody (except Papa) was cranky from lack of food. Thankfully, he was a fast cooker when he wanted to be, not to mention his food was amazing, so it was worth the short wait.
While Matthew was sitting in the now clean kitchen with his brother and mom, his mind wandered off to his grandfather's mysterious diary. How did it get here? Where was he? Does it still exist? What abou- his thoughts were cut short as his dad entered the dining area, carrying plates of delicious looking food, walking in with a smug look on his face, infuriating mom, knowing he had saved dinner and was the hero of kitchen.
Al rolled his eyes at our dad, and then bugged out when Francis set the steaming plate of food in front of him. Matthew would've too, if he wasn't used to this kind of style. He had to admit, it looked like it was from a gourmet restaurant. But Papa had cooked like this all of the time when it was just him and Matthew living in France. That is, until his papa had met Alice, Alfred's mother. Alice and Francis bicker all of the time, but love each other nonetheless in their own unique way. It was kind of cute, actually, though Matthew would never admit it. Looking up, he saw Al practically inhaling his food, like some kind of human vacuum cleaner. It was almost a talent. Thinking this, Matt started laughing, drawing attention to himself. Earning questioning looks from everyone, he just looked down and tried ignoring them. ....until the pestering started.
"Mattie, what are ya laughing about?"
"Mathieu, what seems to be funny?"
"Um...nothing."
"Matthew, just tell us and get it over with."
"Matttiiiieee!!!"
"Matthieu, tell moi, mon fils."
"No thank you..."
"Just get it over with, git."
The talking in the kitchen ceased, getting eerily quiet
"WHAT DID YOU CALL MY SON?"
"JUST A GIT YOU BLOODY FROG!"
"CHEESE-LOVING WINE SLURPER!"
"BLACK SHEEP OF EUROPE!"
This seemingly innocent comment initiated a full blown argument.
Matt quietly finished his food, whilst his parents arguing, using derogatory terms against each others countries. To put it simply, Alice is from Great Britain, while Francis is from, well, France. Alfred grew up in the U.S., so he didn't have an accent. Matthew, on the other hand, had lived in France for awhile, before moving to Canada. So he had a bit of an accent, but not much.
However, even though him and Alfred were not blood related, they looked like twins. Their birthdays were only three days apart, so they were about the same age. Alfred, otherwise known as Alfred F. Jones, had dirty blond hair, blue eyes, a weird cowlick that stuck up, glasses and a bomber jacket that supposedly was passed down from his great-grandfather during WW2. He also never told anyone what the 'F' in his name stood for, heck, not even Alice knew.
Matthew, or Matthew Williams, had almost purple eyes, with glasses much like Al's to match. Almost always wearing a red sweatshirt, he had a modest appearance. His hair was a little shorter than shoulder length, same color as his brothers and a wavy bounce to it that he had inherited from his papa, with a stray curl that never seemed to stay down sticking out of it. Upon finishing his dinner, he and Alfred headed upstairs, listening to their parents go on. Of course, none meant it, they just had a special way of expressing their love for each other. A very special way...
"Son of a tart!"
"Ass-bouquet!"
"Francey pants!"
"Well good luck trying not to be such a complete and total loser-adieu!"
"Look on the bright side, at least you won't smell like drunken cheese anymore!"
"Are you trying to imply there's something wrong with my hair, sir?!"
"-I don't know, that depends on whether or not you think looking like a punk is wrong."
"In case you didn't know, I hate you."
"Love you too!"
After the argument, Matthew and Alfred had gotten ready for bed, leaving their parents to their own devices. Climbing into his awaiting covers, Matt felt tired, but his weariness all but disappeared once his head hit the pillow. It was like some kind of switch being flicked on in his head, refusing to let him sleep. After a couple of hours, he was done tossing and turning, causing him to get up and trudge to his brother's room.
Something about Al made him feel sleepy and comforted, though if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to say exactly what. Pushing open Alfred's door, he was expecting to find his brother in some kind of odd sleeping position that made him look like he was possessed. Nevertheless, he was surprised to find Alfred staring up at the ceiling, not being able to sleep either. Upon entering the room, Al sat up, suddenly aware of the others presence. They both stared at each other for a moment's pause, then came to the same conclusion.
"Somethings wrong." Both said simultaneously. Usually when they say something in sync, they laugh about it and move on. But neither were smiling. Neither were laughing. And yes, something was indeed, very, very wrong.
It was sickening. It was the feeling you get when the roller coaster plunges, when the elevator drops, when something was off. And that is how Matt felt, sitting on the edge of the bed, alongside Alfred. Both were unsure of what to do; they couldn't go to the police, based off of a gut feeling, not knowing what was causing it in the first place. They couldn't go to their parents at one in the morning, saying they had a feeling something was wrong. It would probably tick off Alice, and then make them wonder what the heck they were doing up at one in the morning. They couldn't tell anyone, but the other of the looming dread over them. Shifting his weight on the bed, he broke the impending silence, which was abnormal for him, given his quiet and timid nature.
"Its the attic." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Matthew could say with confidence that he had found the source of this horrible feeling.
"We have an attic?"
Matt rolled his eyes at his brother's obliviousness.
"Of course we do! Where did you think we put all of our old stuff?" Matt said, exasperated.
"Huh...I always thought we gave it away or something..." he said, shrugging as if he just didn't realize that they had an attic in the house they had lived in ever since their parents were married.
"But why the attic out of all places? Why not somewhere creepy like the basement?" Al continued.
"...Well, you see, there's this book I've been reading, and it's about Grandpapa..." Alfred inhaled sharply, knowing that they didn't speak about their lost great-grandfather. The only memory his parents knew of him, was the bomber jacket Al simply refused to take off. For reasons unknown to both brothers, their great-grandpa was not to be talked about. Ever.
"What does the book say about him?" Al said, with wide eyes, on the brink of discovering something revolutionary.
"Well, you see, it isn't much of a book...it's more like a diary..."
"A DIARY? How much of his stuff is up there? And why would you read something so personal?"
Matthew looked down at his now very interesting feet.
"Hey," Al began. "Why didn't you tell me about this diary?" Matt could see the hurt in his brother's eyes and could feel the same look reflecting in his own.
"Well, I just thought you would take it or show Alice and Papa..." He was cut short by his brother enveloping him in his infamous bone crushing hugs.
"I wouldn't do that to you, Mattie." He pulled away from Matthew and looked him in the eyes. "That's what brothers are for, right?" Giving a soft smile, Matthew answered with a simple nod.
"Well, lets go find that diary!!" Alfred exclaimed with his seemingly never-ending energy.
"Al, be quiet!"
"Oops, sorry."
Tiptoeing to the opening of the attic, they swung out the ladder and stared up at the ominous darkness that presented itself to them.
"Yolo..." Al said, just above a whisper.
Taking each others hand, they ascended the wooden staircase.
...Somehow it was easier if I didn't have to watch the needles and scalpels slide into my skin. Closing my eyes was better...much better.
I got a new scar today. A jagged cut along my hipbone, still festering from my earlier encounter with what I've come to terms that is none less than the devil himself.
The patch of blistering skin is starting to get infected, along with a stitched incision over my sternum. I don't care. Let death take us away from here.
Alfred sat back and ran a hand through his hair. So this is what Mattie had been reading? Why would he want to keep reading these horrible experiences? Its not like he could comfort himself, saying it's not real...This is some crazy stuff, happening only God knows where...
He and Matthew had successfully located the diary in its 'hiding place', where Matt had set it after every reading. Which happened to be under the dusty floorboards, where the boards were loose. The bad feeling in both brothers' stomachs were still there, not going away after locating and even reading the diary. Matt, closed it and latched it, as was normal procedure. As he was about to put it back under the floor, Alfred gave a shout of surprise.
"Mattie! Wait!" Matthew paused, inches away from completing the task.
"What's..." he trailed off, pointing to the bottom corner of the cover. "..this?" Matthew tilted his head to get a glance at what he was pointing at. There was an hour glass, and on closer inspection, the sand was actually moving. He stumbled back in surprise and fear, not knowing how to react.
"W-what?" Matt sputtered out, unsure of what to do with this newly found discovery.
"...I'm not sure..." Alfred started, moving closer to to touch it. Matthew, seeing what his impulsive brother was about to do, let out a warning cry, but it was too late.
"Alfred! Wai-" He was cut off as a golden light enveloped the room so much, it looked as if it was daytime, if only briefly. The light finally faded, leaving both brothers stunned, and slightly dumbfounded.
"What. The heck. Was that." Alfred commented. Matthew was looking around, seeing they were still in the same room, and it was still night. After his eyes dilated to suit the dark environment, he noticed something was...different.
"Hey, Al..." he started. "Do you notice anything...well, different?" Upon hearing this Alfred looked around, taking in his surroundings.
"Well, its cleaner, I guess. Less stuff." Matt silently agreed with him. Was the symbol some kind of cleaning charm? Because that could definitely come in handy.
"Wait, its not just cleaner Al..." Alfred turned from where he was currently standing, which happened to be the opening to the ladder.
"I swear I left the ladder down Mattie...something weird is going on here.."
"The stuff is newer, too!" Both of their expressions mirrored the others, almost in mock surprise.
Matthew crept over to the window, and cautiously peered out. The neighborhood was also different. There was less houses, and the road looked older. The worst thing was the cars. The cars were old. They were from the 1940's. Matthew slowly turned away from the window, facing his brother, all of the color drained from his face.
"Well? What's out there bro?" Alfred asked.
"We've...gone back in time."
A/N:
Okay, so that was the first chapter! Hopefully it didn't suck, and please tell me how you liked it!
Also, mon fils means my son
And mon amour means my love, FYI
Another thing to add is that I got their exchanged insults from multiple episodes of hetalia, since I'm, too lazy to come up with my own...
Well, that's all folks! Until next time,
-Ali