I Promise

The First Appearance- Part 1

I Promise--Hetalia FanFic-Part 1

"Hello? Anyone home?" Alfred opened the door, it was almost always unlocked, everyone was too scared of the rumors of what was inside to try the door anyway. The door creaked, but still nothing seemed to stir inside. Alfred stepped inside, and looked around. The house was very simplistic, with a small table, a few chairs, and a very small TV in the corner of the house. The American closed the door, then weaved through the obstacles in the room to get to the next one. "Hello?" His voice was now just barely above a whisper. This next room seemed to be the kitchen, though it seemed a bit dusty. Wait. Alfred froze. What was that? He looked at the counter, where there was a dark substance on it. He rubbed his finger against the counter. Whatever the substance was, it made his finger wet and slightly sticky. He raised his finger to his nose. Ugh. He took it away quickly. Yep, what he thought. Blood.
"Alfred?" *knock-knock* "ALFRED!" Matthew watched in horror, as he saw his brother collapse to the floor. He ran to him and saw blood running down his arms. "Alfred, what did you do?!" Matthew fumbled with his phone, and barely managed to dial 911. "Hello, what's your emergency?" "My b-brother is lying on the ground and he's bleeding! Please help him!" Alfred watched Matthew stammer to tell the operator where they lived and what was wrong. Matthew set the phone next to him, and held his big brother in his arms. "A-Alfred. . . Why would you do this? Y-You're supposed to be the strong one. . . You can't let them get in your head, that's how this whole thing started. . ."
Alfred shook his head to clear the memory. He couldn't be thinking of his brother. Not now. It was too late for him, now. It's not like they wanted him around. He asked everyone who would listen to him, and it almost always ended in a fight. The only one there for him was Matthew, but even having him just wasn't enough. Alfred shook his head again. He didn't want to fight, or even really think of anyone who might change their mind. He came to this house for a reason. He wiped his hand on his jeans. He found a knife in the sink with the same dark, wet, sticky substance. It didn't really make him super nervous. I mean, this IS the house where everyone says people go or are sent to die. Alfred thought morbidly. Then he thought about his brother again.
Alfred was lying in a hospital bed, an IV in one arm, pumping fluids and nutrients into him, while in his other arm pumping blood, was another IV. He sighed and closed his eyes again. He saw Matthew staring concerned at him. The nurse smiled at him. "Don't worry about him, Mr. Williams, he'll be alright." She smiled. "And if you need anything, anything at all, just call my name, Amelia, 'kay?" Matthew nodded and smiled. "Thank you Miss Amelia." Amelia smiled, then finished writing something on a clipboard, then walked out.
Alfred shook his head again. Ugh, stop it! He was getting irritated from all the memories trying to distract him. He just wanted to find out what happened in that place that kills people and have it do its job. Matthew probably noticed he wasn't at their little neighborhood meeting, but the others would probably say it was a relief. No one liked his ideas about what they should do, none of them. Yao said they wouldn't do anything, Arthur said they were a waste of breath, Francis said he couldn't understand Alfred sometimes, even. That may have just been a French thing, but Alfred didn't care, it was a strike against him anyway. Alfred left the kitchen, and went into the next room, which seemed to be the dining room. There was a smell of decay in the air, and Alfred quickly went through the next door. He didn't want to find out what was in whatever state of decay in there. That smell alone must have killed a few people. He thought, wrinkling his nose. The next room he went in seemed to be a bedroom. It was very dark, and he couldn't hardly see anything. What he did notice was what seemed at first in the shadows to be a very humongous lumpy bed. As he stood there wondering, he looked around the room. There was a end-table, a small table with a few chairs, and on the table was what seemed to be a contacts case. He inched over to it, and picked up the contacts case. "Hmm, weird." He barely murmured. Then, he heard one sound. Creak. What the hell was that? Alfred quickly and quietly spun around. He saw nothing, except the shadows. He took a step back, still watching the room. I didn't say it loudly! He took another step back, and felt the wall behind him. Then came a second creak. Creak. Alfred was terrified, he may have depressing thoughts, and the like, but he was afraid of being dead. He was afraid of Death. Alfred then heard a harsh grated noise. He didn't hear it near him, so he dared to inch closer to the doorway to the dining room. When he got there, he realized that the sound he was hearing seemed to be a chop. The kitchen! Maybe I'll be able to get a look at the sound-maker! He was silent as he put his hand over his nose, and kept himself hidden by the edge of the doorway to the kitchen. There was another grated sound and Alfred saw the giant butcher knife-like object come down upon the bloodied counter. He shuddered. He moved as the figure looked out into the dining room. He held his breath. It couldn't have seen me. It couldn't have possibly seen me. Alfred told himself over and over. He was silently freaking out as he heard random noises inside the other room. He kept himself hidden in the corner, until he saw the figure come out with a gigantic tray. What, is he expecting a whole bunch of company or something? Then before Alfred could even move, the figure turned around and walked back into the kitchen. Alfred silently cursed. He'd have to wait until the figure came out again. Four more times, the figure came out and placed either large quantities or many of things on the table, such as large trays of food, then lastly, a tray with many cups on it. Alfred was amazed at the quantities in such a short amount of time. Then, the figure sat down at the table, sitting in the seat facing away from the doorway to the kitchen. Alfred was glad, but also suspicious. He decided to test his luck and to try and exit. As he got to the doorway, and was about to exit; he was stopped by an eerily creepy and rough voice speaking. "Won't you stay for dinner?" Alfred froze. Ohcrapohcrapohcrap. Alfred's mind said hell no, but he didn't want to be completely rude and make him (he assumed the figure was a man now) angry. "No, I'm sorry. I have to get home to my brother." He gave a placid reply. "Oh. Now, I've made all this for no reason." The voice sounded genuinely sad. Alfred refused to feel pity. The mean part of his brain said it was the figure's own fault, probably, but the nice part wanted to console him. He decided to go neutral and just turn to leave. "You'll come back, though, won't you? Please promise you will." The voice said, still pleasant and friendly. Alfred's mind said no again, but he smiled and said, in an equally pleasant voice: "I promise I'll come back." Maybe not, but might as well. It's not like I know him, or anything, so it's not personal if I break it or something. Then he chose to take that moment and leave. "Bye." It looked like the figure nodded as Alfred looked over his shoulder, but he couldn't be sure. He quickly left, and got to his and Matthew's house only a few minutes later. Matthew was standing on the porch, looking around for Alfred. When he saw Alfred, he sighed and ran up to his brother. "Alfred, where have you been?" Alfred just gave a small smile and said: "I went to Gilbert's house." Gilbert didn't live in the neighborhood, so Alfred could easily use his house for an excuse for an all day absence. Matthew sighed. "I made some Chicken Parmesan while you were gone for dinner, though I couldn't eat." Alfred nodded. He had just realized he hadn't really eaten anything all day. "I'm starving, so that sounds great." "Great! I'll go heat it up." Matthew said, though he still felt that it was weird that Alfred had seemed to have made a full recovery, going from eating hardly anything, then purging, to now eating almost three meals a day. He had even stopped eating just in his room, and was now most often in the kitchen or dining room with Matthew. Alfred walked into the kitchen, and sat at the table. He felt much better being in a fully lighted house and not feeling so on edge. Slowly, the feeling of fear, and of being watched, faded. He sighed, and put his head on the table, watching his brother. Matthew set the plate down in front of him, and he immediately started eating. He couldn't stop thinking about the mysterious figure in the house. Why did he make so much food? It was only him. . . Wasn't it? Somehow he knew I was there, which also doesn't make much sense, either.