Tasked With Insanity || A Hetalia Horror Story

The Disappearance of Alfred F. Jones

'You are a hero

But no one sees you as one.

What friends are they if they don't believe in you?'

...I'll prove myself. I'll prove myself so they'll believe in me.

**

English girl found dead in an abandoned house in England. Killed by a bullet to the heart. Culprit unfound.

**

How to be a hero. Did he need to know that? Did he get it wrong?

The 'hero', Alfred Jones, went missing in the dead of night just a day ago.

Our theory is that he ran away. A lot of the other countries weren't being very nice to him.

Like with how he liked to think he was a hero.

They teased, sometimes bordering on bullying, him about it.

And I know what that feels like, to have your dreams crushed. It's easy for me to be sympathetic about it.

I was the only one to go and look for him.

Searches led me to an abandoned house in England, one that reminded me very much of Arthur's, but more neglected. A lot more neglected.

In fact, it looked eerily close to Arthur's.

The door was wide open, not even closed. Sunlight streamed through into the otherwise darkened hallway, easing my concerns about stepping in.

And I did so without another single doubt.

I'd find Alfred, because no one else would.

On the inside, the house seemed fairly well looked after, which struck me as strange. Settled dust had been disturbed, furniture was in good condition, and empty wrappers and plates scarce of much food hinted at the presence of another.

I stepped forward cautiously, to examine the things that had been discarded.

Apart from the rubbish, there was a pair of glasses, the right lens smashed and the left cracked.

They were Alfred's glasses.

Eyes clouding with worry, I closed my fingers around the broken glasses gently and proceeded to look around the house, even more cautiously now.

But the other rooms only held the same things- discarded wrappers, dust disturbed by movement and footsteps.

Was someone living here? Did someone just come every now and then to stay in the eerie surroundings?

Was that person Alfred?

Another room, another, and another, all holding the same sort of thing..

Until I came to the last room. A library.

This room was the cleanest, in terms of food and wrappers, but the one with the least dust. Whoever it was spent a lot of time in this room.

And whoever it was left an old book sticking out of the bookshelf, a minor annoyance that didn't fail to catch my attention.

I crossed the room to push it back in and proceed, but it wasn't that simple.

As I did push it back, it was hard to move.

Okay, so maybe it was a heavy book. It did look big enough to be considered that.

And as it hit the back of the shelf, there was a click.

Okay, maybe my hearing was going weird and that was just the book making contact with the wood behind it.

But as the book hit the back of the shelf, and as the click resounded through the room, the bookshelf in front of me began to move- sliding to the side into what had previously looked like an alcove where you would put a desk.

Now before me was a wall, one set back from the others, with a door like all the others in the house in the middle.

I took a deep breath, stepped forward and pushed the door open.

This room was a complete change of scenery. Candle brackets lined the now old, stone walls where scraps of paper, newspaper clippings and pictures didn't, but only one of them actually contained a candle, still burning and dripping wax into a small metal bowl on the desk directly below.

Curiously, I walked across the echoey room, stone floor feeling cold even through the soles of my shoes.

On the desk were more newspaper clippings, and pictures.

Ones that freaked me out in particular.

English girl found dead in an abandoned house in Italy. Autopsy claims she froze to death.

English girl found dead in abandoned house in Germany. Autopsy claims she was strangled to death. Culprit unfound.

Both headlines, both newspaper articles, had the same pictures to go with it.

Me, smiling at the camera.

Me, with various people I knew too well. Matthew. Gilbert. Feliciano...

The place of death.

But the last article, the last headline, had something more.

English girl and Canadian boy found together, both dead, at edge of Canadian forest. Autopsy shows signs of abuse from both. Both died from loss of blood.

Me, smiling at the camera.

Matthew, smiling at the camera.

Matthew and I together, both laughing and having fun.

The place of death.

My eyes widened in alarm, as I denied any of that having ever happened.

I was alive, I was here, was I not?

It was fake. It was all-

The clicking of a gun silenced my thoughts, and I froze.

I had been too absorbed in the clippings on the desk that I hadn't noticed the footsteps.

I hadn't noticed the sudden presence of someone other than me.

I turned my head to face whoever it was.

...

Alfred.

Alfred, pointing his pistol straight at my heart.

Once again, my eyes widened into green pools of fear.

"A-Alfred-"

His gaze was blank.

"You weren't supposed to see any of this."

"W-Why-"

"You'll remember it all even if I kill you, won't you?"

Confusion mixed in with the fear in my eyes.

"W-What are you on about, Alfred?!"

A smile made it's way onto his face.

"But I'll have to kill you anyway, because if you save me... then I won't be able to save us."

"A-Alfred, what are you-"

If I remained living, I would have never forgotten how the gunshot rang in my ears, I would have never forgotten the sorry smile on Alfred's face as he pulled the trigger.

I would have never forgotten the pain as the bullet first pierced my clothing, then my skin, my flesh, and then heart.

"I'm a hero, and I'll prove it."

END