No thanks, I don't want to write a description.
Ugh.
FINE
THIS IS A BOOK FILLED WITH AMAZING FAN-ART FROM OTHER PEOPLE, RANDOM AN0N RANTS, ASK OR DARES, SONG-SHOTS, ONE-SHOTS, MY OWN ART, AND RANDOM OTHER STUFF I JUST FEEL LIKE WRITING DOWN.
A/N: Started writing this before I procrastinated too much and because it's raining...again. We couldn't just have it end after the worst rainstorm in 500 years, could we? NOOOO we have to have MORE rain. And I'm kinda salty right now because of S.A.D. and stuff. Also I have to go work again today so I probably won't be active. ;-;
Gore warning.
Note: The English family is not Ame's family in this au. They are just his 'family'. For plot purposes.
3rd Person's POV
"GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE FREAK!!!"
Little 7 year old America choked back a sob as he ran from his schoolyard bullies. Shoes slapped against the pavement with dull thuds, and he spared a glance behind him to judge their distance.
Oh Pangaea!
They were catching up!!!
Earlier that day, America had made the mistake of 'sassing' back at the bullies when they tripped him in the hallway on the way out of school.
Apparently, such a misdemeanor was punishable by death in their jacked up perspective.
And so America had found himself running for what seemed to be his life with three pissed off fifth graders hot on his heels.
A hand grasped the edge of his shirt and he yelped, putting on a burst of speed and darting into the nearest backyard of a house.
America stopped suddenly, realization dawning across his terrified face.
The house he had stopped at was the abandoned mansion on Ravenseye Street.
Rumor has it that it was the hideout of a deranged serial killer who would kidnap and kill people inside. Legend goes that the man never was caught, and the vengeful ghosts still prowl the darkened hallways of the mansion, moaning and screaming in rage, and desperate to feast upo-
"THERE'S THE LITTLE TWERP!! GET HIM!!!!"
America gulped, looking back one more time before running up the crumbling steps and opening the door.
The inside was dusty, and there were spiderwebs in every nick and cranny of the mansion's entry hall. The light was dim and feeble as it filtered through the dust-caked windows. Twin lamps with candlesticks and burnt wicks stood on either side of the door, albeit a good couple feet away, give or take. Directly in front of America was a broad staircase with a ratty old reddish carpet, one that probably looked much finer in its youth. The banister was smooth and old, chipped in some places. At the top of the stairs it branched off, each stairway progressing to a different wing of the house. A dusty chandelier hung over the room, directly above a faded carpet.
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America took a step forward, pausing when an eerie creak resonated around the room, emanating from the floorboard under his feet. He gazed about the room in wonder and awe.
