COUNTRYHUMANS ONESHOTS (COMPLETED)

this is countryhumans i swear

1288 words

9/28/2019

OOF. slightly inspired by HGK477. go check em out

"Dylan, love, don't open the window tonight, ok? Your Mum and Dad will be back soon," Mrs. Evans gave Dylan a worried smile from his doorway before shutting and locking it. He sighed, realizing his parents were probably going out to drink again. And on the strongest Blood Moon too? He could get taken by a spirit, and they were drinking?

He looked around his room, sitting on the bed like Mrs. Evans said he should. The thin circle of salt around his bed was nearly invisible in the dark. The salt didn't do much, but it was imperative no moonlight got in. That would be an open invitation for any spirits lurking around to enter the house. It was also important to keep the mirrors covered with sheer silk. Not enough to fully see your reflection, but enough to see any anomalies in the mirror.

Dylan adjusted his glasses and slipped off his bed, feeling bored with just lying about. He felt most active at night, which Mrs. Evans assured him was normal for a boy his age. It never really seemed like it, since most boys would rather play football during break than run through the woods in the light of a half-moon. Never during a full moon though, spirits run on those nights too. Plus, his parents locked his door on those nights anyways.

Blood Moons happened once a year and his parents usually stayed in the house with him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. They weren't here this year, which was a bit of a relief. Dylan didn't like his parents much. He stretched out his arms and began pacing across the floor, giving a wide berth to the tin can lying on the ground. Dylan didn't know why he hated tin cans so much, he just did.

Then he sneezed.

Sneezing is always bad around spirits. Dylan still reached for his polka-dotted drawstring of agrimony and sage, prepared to throw some at a spirit. You technically were supposed to rub it on your body, but if the sneeze offended the spirits there wouldn't be time for that. After three minutes, nothing happened. That was a good sign. Mrs. Evans' protective spell was working better than expected.

He hesitantly moved a hand up to wipe his nose. He did. Instead of his sleeve being grossly moist, his jacket smelled faintly of iron and warmth was seeping through the cloth.

He had gotten a bloody nose.

Only bad things happened to those who got bloody noses on a Blood Moon. Unfortunately, Dylan was obsessed with his blood. He liked to watch it run down and seep from its source, or to watch it start as a dainty crimson bead to a steady flow of a red iron river. He especially likes bloody noses, he didn't know why.

He looked into the mirror. He could barely see the red trickling down his face through the white silk. He tugged the silk off the mirror. The fabric gently fell to the floor, lying smoothly on the floor without wrinkles. That was a good sign. Spirits liked cloth to wrinkle and move about. He could better see the blood, but it would be better in the light.

Dylan stepped back, putting a hand to his nose. He was being stupid, only an idiot would open curtains on a Blood Moon, let alone the strongest one. But something in Dylan wanted to open the curtains.

He walked over the windows covered in white curtains. Dylan cautiously moved the heavy fabric a bit. He looked through the small opening, feeling a breeze gently blow across his face. The tops of the buildings looked eerily serene in the red light. A chickadee landed on the building across from him, warbling sweetly. Dylan checked the pocket watch Mrs. Evans gave him. The hand had just turned to the 3rd hour.

The chickadee had stopped singing, it probably flew away. Dylan looked behind him at the mirror, checking if anything was in the reflection. Just him, but the cloth had started to wrinkle. He looked out the window again.

In the place of the bird was a dark figure. They were crouched down on the building with their back to him. They were wearing what looked like a suit jacket with coattails. They sharply turned his head, they're striking blue eyes looking directly at him.

Dylan pulled the curtains down, looking back at the mirror and silk. Still nothing in the mirror, but the silk was violently spinning in the air.

The curtains flew open, bathing the room in red-ish light. Dylan turned around to face the figure on the roof. 

He was much taller than Dylan, and his skin looked weird, not like normal skin color. "Interesting," the man said, looking Dylan up and down. He raised both pairs- wait what?- of his arms. He grabbed Dylan's wrist, gently pressing into the skin. He let go of Dylan and looked intently at his arm.

"Who- What the hell are you?" Dylan asked, glaring at him. The man chuckled.

"Hello. You don't need to know that now. Just wait," the man said. Dylan backed up from the man who was still looking at his wrist.

"What do you-" Dylan's shriek cut of his statement. His arm felt like it was on fire. Dylan looked at his wrist. His skin was shriveling and falling off where the man had touched him. Blood leaked down and dripped onto the floor. His fascination was overwhelmed by the burning pain he felt.

"Lovely," the man smiled. He grabbed Dylan's other arm and jumped out the window. He ran very quickly, the world seemed to speed up as he ran. The two reached the forest and he kept running.

After a few minutes, he stopped in front of an old mansion. The stones had vines growing on it, and the wooden boards were old and collapsing on themselves. It seemed nobody had lived there for a long time. The man dragged Dylan through the door.

Inside, it was just as old and decrepit. It was dark, save for a few candles on an antique table.

"Scottland!" The man yelled out, making Dylan jump. "I got one!"

A woman with weird skin, like the man, came down the stairs. She looked at Dylan and sighed. Her eyes were a bright gray.

"Oh, lord," she whispered under her breath. "Hello there." She spoke gently, leaning down to Dylan's height. "Do you- oh, of course you don't know. My name is Scottland, the man who just took you is Britan-"

"So you're telling me that you're countries?" Dylan said in disbelief.

"Yes. And you're going to be one too. Britan just got new land he needs a representative of. It stops hurting after a while." Scottland smiled down gently. She picked up Dylan's bleeding wrist, which had scabbed over. She picked at the scab, keeping an iron grip when Dylan thrashed around. The skin under the scab seemed perfectly healed, but it had turned green. "That's new."

"What about my-"

"Parents? Considering your here, they won't care about you. Our kind always have bad parents," Scottland said, smiling bitterly.

"What were your parents like?" Dylan asked, still looking at the green skin.

"I don't remember," Scottland said. She leaned closer to his ear. "Write all your memories down and hide it from him. When you do, see me." She stood up and flashed him another smile. "I'll show you to your room."

"But I don't want to-"

"None of us do, love." She said, grabbing his arm and gently leading him upstairs. "None of us do."

"What's my name going to be when I'm a country?" Dylan asked.

"Other countries normally can tell," Scottland said, looking at him. She leaned down and took off his glasses, showing off his Bright Red eyes.

"It's Wales."