House of Memories 《Hetalia》

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The next door that revealed itself had skipped numbers. From 1-1 to 1-6, were the memories that were shown important? Did they have significant meaning? No one could tell, but they had a duty to traverse through his memories and save him. Many present wouldn't necessarily bother to aid in the quest to save America, but they would try their hardest to save Alfred. America wasn't their favorite person to hang out with, he was loud, annoying, and insensitive to many topics. Alfred was one of the nicest person they had ever met, he would listen to anyone's problems and wouldn't speak till he saw fit to intervene. His advice had helped so many countries that he was like their therapist in a way.

So when the next door showed, engulfed in a black smog and ever-growing shadows, they prepared to face the memory behind it.

"What is that?" Alfred asked out of breath as he got closer to the door.

"I don't know," Arthur got closer to inspect it, he felt drained. Tired. And his body ached everywhere, Arthur couldn't understand how much pain Alfred was in because of the door. "But the only way to know is if we go through, ready?"

"I'll go first!" Gilbert said confidently. "I'll go see if it's safe." When he disappeared, the group was patiently waiting outside slightly worried, one more so than the others, about what lie beyond the oak door. Suddenly the door creaked open and there stood Gilbert covered head to toe in a black molasses-like substance. "There was nothing for me to see."

"Let me try," Alfred limped to the door and the goop scurried away from him like he was a disease. Beneath him was a dirt ground with wood splinters scattered every so often. He reached out and grabbed a handful of the substances, watching it melt in his hands like mercury till it vanished in thin air. The world around them gifted to a little village. Hand woven cloth teepee's lay destroyed and broken across the small clearing; forest surrounded them so thickly that they couldn't see the light through the trunks. Only the sun from above the foliage lit the area.

The group split up individually, scattered amongst the wreckage of a once homey group. Feliciano, North Italy, screamed at what he saw. Behind a group of boulders there was a creature, tall and skeleton-thin, hunched over a carcass. Ripping apart the skin as if it was beef jerky. Matthew went round the other side of the boulder as Gilbert and Ludwig ushered Feliciano away from the scene. "A wendigo."

"A what?" Antonio asked trying to get close to the creature, inspecting it closer.

"Its a creature that eats human bodies to try and become human again," Matthew says and looks around for more, just incase. "Many stories were made to try and explain them, but essentially, they're humans that were so hungry because they had no food, and eventually, ate other people." He says. "But because of it, they morphed into these things. Their stomachs never get full, and nor do they gain what they eat. Stuck in a hunger so unbearable for all eternity."

The group stared at him in shock, how could a hideous creature such as this live in their countries. No creatures exited in their half of the world, nothing that could be as terrifying as that. Matthias looked at Alfred worriedly, "Why is this in your memories then?"

"I don't know," He says looking around for any kind of sign of himself, his brother, or his mom. And there, on the other side of the clearing was his mother. A makeshift baby sling wrapped around her torso. Matthew was snugly secured in the front and Alfred in the back.

She entered the destroyed village in shock and fear. She had not know about the wendigo hiding behind the rocks eating the remains of her people. Carefully, she made her way around the entire campsite, searching hopefully for any survivors of whatever happened. Quiet footsteps never heard as she stepped over body parts, wood beams, and weapons, but she snapped a twig.