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Goodnight Noises Everywhere	By : FlayraDowitcher Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1121 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am making no money off of this fic.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
***Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of medical torture, drug use
***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am making no money off of this fic.
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
"A sense of obligation." –Stephen Crane
Chapter 2: Ivan's Story
He ran.
A wanted man on the run that had just escaped from the mental ward of the city's cruelest prison. His tired body darted through the trees of the woods. The towering maze of black trees in the dark made him dizzy, threatened to make him lose his way. But he had nowhere to go, he did not know where he was going. All he knew was his naked feet ached with the constant running on the forest floor. Branches bit at his skin, spider webs littered his hair and his feet bled. The sounds of the hounds were gaining on him and he knew the beasts would pick up the scent of his blood, so he could not rest. If the dogs were to catch him, they would tear him apart with their masters urging them on. He had come too far now to be taken down by a pack of wild beasts. He had escaped from the darkest of prisons; he could feel the wind on his face, see the stars above him and hopefully bask in the morning sun.
But still they barked and still he ran.
How had he become like this? When did his life take such a turn for the worst? Whatever happened to the earlier days of life…when he was happy?
Ivan Branginski was born to a poor farming couple who lived on the property of a Duke. They worked the fields, tended to the animals, kept up with the garden and saw that the walk was always swept. That was one of Ivan's jobs as a young boy; to sweep the walk, collect and wash the eggs and feed the animals. The work was hard and the hours were long. He and his parents were up at dawn and in bed at sunset. The hard labor never really bothered him for it helped to make him strong. The Duke enjoyed having Ivan as a worker, especially when he grew older; and taller. Ivan's tall stature and broad shoulders showed his life of heavy laboring. Visitors to the Duke were curious about his height for he towered over most. Many offered to buy him for their own, but the Duke never wanted to let him go. Ivan never cared about being put to work. In fact, he liked it. Sometimes the Duke called him inside to help move furniture or reposition a statue. When a tree fell in the courtyard, Ivan and his father labored all day sawing it in pieces and carrying it away. Ivan did the heaviest of the work because his father's age had begun to show and the work just wasn't as easy for the man as it once was.
Sixteen winters came and went with the same routine day in and day out. After a hard days work, he and his parents would sit around the tiny stone hearth with the fire burning bright. His mother would cook and his father would play his fiddle. Ivan loved when his father played the fiddle because it helped to brighten up the darkness of their hut. Ivan and his mother would sing along to the songs he would play and he grew up with a sweet singing voice that did not match his exterior. Once the Duke had even invited him and his father to perform at a party one autumn evening. Ivan sang while his father played. The company, a mix of lords and ladies, were delighted by their performance and gave a standing ovation. The magic of that night stuck in his head for soon it will have been his last happy memory. In the winter of his seventeenth year, his mother had fallen ill and was unable to work. All the illness was in her head and it made her act out strangely and say bizarre things. The Duke would not call for a physician, so his father had to go out into the city in hopes of finding one that would heal her out of good faith. They had very little money to their name, having been fully dependant on the care of the Duke to meet their needs. Ivan was left to do double the work in place of his father, while still trying to keep his mother grounded to the hut. When his father came back empty handed they knew it was over. There was no hope for her now. All they could do was continue on with their work and hope by the grace of God that she would get better.
Within the span of a week all hell had broken loose. One bright afternoon, a visitor was coming down the road to see the Duke in their steam automobile. As Ivan was carrying an armful of chopped firewood, he stopped to watch the automobile come bouncing down the road and nearing their hut. To his horror, from out of the hut, came his mother, running and screaming like a madwoman. When it happened, every part of him went numb. All the sounds disappeared from around him. It took a moment for his mind to register what actually occurred right before his eyes. His mother had run right in front of the automobile and the large body of steel accidently struck her down. The automobile bounced and jolted as the front right tires ran over most of her before coming to a halt. Her body lay twisted and bloodied under the automobile as the man driving it leapt out to scream 'oh my God' over and over again while holding his head. Ivan dropped all of the firewood at his feet once he had found the strength to move. Still in shock, he ran down the hill to the scene where the man shouted he was sorry and begged forgiveness. Ivan only ignored him, throwing himself onto his belly to gaze upon his broken mother under the automobile. Without a thought he pulled her out, her hips and legs twisted from the blow. The last thing he remembered was carrying her into the hut, and then everything after that was a blur. He never remembered his father coming home, them burying her, or the sympathies of the Duke. When the true reality of it finally hit him, Ivan ran into the woods behind the manor and screamed at the sky.
But when it rains, it pours. Shortly after the tragic death of his mother, word of the Duke's crime hit the newspapers. During one his many trips to the capital to see the king, the Duke had, apparently, raped one of the bastard daughters. The king, in his fury and anger, stripped the Duke of all his titles and lands. Which, in turn, meant that Ivan and his father had nowhere to go. The soldiers and government officials shut down the house, sending out all servants and farm hands alike. Ivan and his father had to take to the streets in search of other work. Jobs were scarce in the city, so they offered their services to the rich. No lord or lady in the city wanted their help and turned them away. In the end, the two men found jobs as bricklayers. The job did not last long, for shortly after obtaining it his father died from a lung infection, most likely due to the constant brick dust in the work area. And so this left Ivan to work on his own, all by himself. The pay was little, the food was slop and the hours were long. But still he worked; worked longer and harder than he ever had if only to keep his mind off of his extreme unhappiness.
The loneliness began to take its toll on him and every night Ivan found himself in a tavern drinking his pay away. He would sleep under a bridge once he was done and then set out for work in the morning. It was vicious cycle. The city life was much different from that of the countryside. After the automobile accident, Ivan grew uneasy and nervous around the steam machines. Even the sounds from their engines kept his mind running in a hundred directions and each one ended with his mother getting run over. He started to drink to help dull the memories and make sleep come easier to him. If he did not drink, then the sounds of the automobiles would keep him awake. Only the police were out patrolling at night in those machines but they were one too many. He wanted everything to be just the way it was, on the farm with his father playing the fiddle and his mother cooking in the hearth. But that was never to be.
One lonely night when his boss skipped out the pay (having no funds) Ivan wandered aimlessly on the dark streets. The night air chilled him, for his work shirt was growing thin from overuse. Even his pants were becoming worn thin with some holes here and there. He could have bought some new clothes by now, but the drinking was more important. Especially the vodka. He liked that vodka. Oh how he wished he had some now. An automobile suddenly puttered by and honked its horn, making Ivan grow stiff with fear. The frozen state lasted only a minute until the machine was out of sight and sound so he could continue on his way. He wasn't heading any place in particular; he was just walking. There was no booze to clear his head and make him numb, so all he had were his thoughts.
"Why so glum, big guy?" Came a strange voice to his right. Ivan turned to look down a dark alley where a group of five people, three men and two women, sat upon piles of debris. He wouldn't answer them. "Got some troubles, I'll bet?" The man was very thin, with a sunken in face and trembling hands. "We all got troubles here. All of us. You need to forget, eh? Come forget with us."
Ivan raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
One of the women, clothed in a dirtied striped dress, beckoned him over with her finger. "Come on, handsome! Don't be shy! Come sit and talk with us. Tell us your troubles."
It was then that Ivan noticed they were passing around a strange looking pipe. One of the men put it to his mouth, inhaled heavily and let out a breath. Ivan watched in curiosity, as the man appeared to fall limp against the wall, smiling and, weeping?
"What is wrong with him?" Ivan asked the first man.
"Oh, he is washing away his pain." The man smiled, his mouth full of dark holes where teeth should be. "He's forgetting. Don't you want to forget the pain too?"
Ivan's eyes widened at the man's words. Yes. Yes he did want to forget his pain and ease his worry. Another automobile went by and he shook in terror. The man noticed this, chuckled and wrapped his arm around Ivan's shoulder. "You need some of this stuff, friend. Come join us…it'll relax you."
So Ivan went with the man and joined the group. The smell of the 'stuff' wrinkled his nose and when the pipe was past to him, he held it between two fingers as if it were the most vile thing in the world. One of the women showed him how to properly hold it, mimicking the breathing motions needed to enjoy the drug fully. Ivan had no idea what it was when he took that first puff, (now he knew what it was) and it was not at all unpleasant. He coughed a bit but immediately felt the effects of the 'stuff' dull his senses. The others forced him to have more, which he did, until he was slumped against the wall just like all the others. His whole body felt loose, as if the air had been let out like a big balloon. He couldn't remember why he was here, or what he was doing. All he knew was that his body was numb, spots danced before his eyes and he was feeling GOOD.
Yet this 'opium', as it was called, was a nasty habit to get into. When he didn't have money to smoke it, he spent the coins on vodka. If there was a choice between the two, he always chose opium. Even the rich used it; they even held opium parties. Oh, how he wished he could go to one of those! He wondered if it would be like the party the Duke invited him to that night? As he learned the area over time, he knew where to go to get his fix. Some people died from opium overdose; he'd seen it many times happen right in front of him yet didn't care. He would have already been high by the time they died. They probably died of other complications as well. Soon he couldn't function without it. Ivan needed the opium to sleep and use it to wash away all his bad memories. The more he smoked it, the more he wanted it; craved it. Yet when it started to affect his work performance, Ivan found himself out of a job. While helping to move a wagon of bricks he grew so light headed that he'd lost control and the wagon tipped, breaking half of the bricks. That was when his boss screamed at him, cursed him and sent him on his way. Ivan was once again on the street searching for work, but like before, he was turned away. That didn't matter, though. During some opium gatherings he had learned to gamble and the earnings helped to pay for his addiction. Ivan continued to live under the bridge for when he was high, the smelly old stone and sewage water was paradise and it didn't bother him.
This had gone on for a month or so until his addiction grew to near dangerous levels. It was also the start of his new life in prison. While playing a game of poker in a slum tavern, Ivan accused one of the men of cheating. The man said he hadn't, but Ivan wasn't convinced. Right before the game, he had smoked a bit too much and his senses were less than accurate. (He would come to learn what happened later on in court) The man's denial enraged him so much that Ivan flipped the table, forcing all the cards into the air. Men jumped back, women screamed and other called for help. The man accused attacked Ivan, which was a big mistake. Ivan overpowered the man within a second, using his brute strength to snap the man's arm with a sickening crunch. But he wouldn't stop there. He grabbed the man by his hair, dragged him across the floor and repeatedly slammed the other's face into an ale barrel faucet. The protruding piece of wood easily made a bloodied dent in the man's head, which soon killed him. The people were still screaming around him, but the noise only made his bloodlust grow. Finished with the cheating man, Ivan let him collapse to the floor and turned to the onlookers. Now three policemen were yelling at him to stop. Ivan let out a drug induced roar and charged, forcing them to take out their nightsticks in defense. Ivan grabbed the first man by his head, gave a sharp twist and snapped the policeman's neck. The other two tried to back away with one loading a pistol. Ivan growled and grabbed the nightstick from the stunned man to whack it across the other's face. The policeman fumbling with his pistol was too terrified of Ivan beating the man to death with the nightstick to stay any longer. He dropped the pistol and all the ammo with it, turning tail to run.
Ivan never remembered glaring around the room, but it was told him that he did just that. He threatened and challenged anyone to come at him, screaming for some vodka or opium. What he could remember were thousands of hands upon him as he was dragged out kicking and screaming like a raging mad bull. When he had come to, he was in a dark, damp room. There were no lights save for a tiny, narrow slit in the wall, which was a window. The sun was shining through, its rays nearly blinding him as he looked towards the window. Where was he? What happened? When he tried to sit up, he found that his arms would not move. Looking down at himself, he saw he was dressed in one of those crazy people coats with large black buckles. Ivan tried not to panic as he flopped around on the floor like a large white grub worm. How did he get here? And why? Although the room was cold he was sweating and his veins felt as if they had ice in them. He needed some opium and he needed it NOW. The opium would calm him. The opium would help to keep his legs still and his mind numb.
The sound of footfalls on the floor outside filled him with terror. He didn't know why he was scared, (he would learn later it was from the drug) but Ivan feared who or what might come in that rusty iron door. The window door slid open and a pair of glasses peered in. Ivan scrambled to sit up but it was hard without the use of his hands. The door opened next with a loud echoing crank and Ivan felt himself shy away. A man in a white coat, followed by two more men clothed all in white, entered the small room to stand before him. Ivan's violet eyes darted frantically from each one, waiting to see who would make the first move.
"Good morning, Ivan. Do you know why you are here?"
Ivan licked his dry lips. "N-No, I don't. Let me go. Undo me. Please!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that." The man removed his glasses to wipe off a smudge. "My name is Doctor Arnold and I will be looking after you while you are here."
"W-Where is 'here'?" Ivan asked in a whisper.
"This is Black Horse Prison. You are in the mental ward of the prison cells."
'Mental?' Ivan repeated in his mind. 'I'm not crazy!' "Please, there's been a mistake! I'm not crazy!"
"We don't know what you are, Ivan." Replied Doctor Arnold. "Now, are you certain you do not remember anything of last night?" He glared. "How about when you viciously killed three innocent men?"
Ivan's eyes widened. "K-Killed? I would never kill anyone!"
"Hm. You have a sweet voice but there is nothing sweet about your condition! You are a menace to society! It is my duty to examine you and find out just why you acted out in a blind black rage." The doctor reached into his coat pocket, taking out a small vial and a needle.
Ivan's eyes were focused on the needle. "Is that opium?"
"Opium?" The doctor repeated in question. "Do you take opium often, Ivan?"
"Yes. Yes it makes me feel better. It makes the pain go away." He watched as the doctor filled the needle.
"And just what pain do you have, Ivan?"
"They are in my head."
The doctor smirked. "I see. They're in your head." He tapped the needle. "Tell me, do you hear voices in your head as well?"
"Voices? I…I hear the voice of my parents sometimes…and the Duke."
"Duke?" Doctor Arnold chuckled. "Very interesting."
"I'm not lying."
"Of course you aren't. You're also lying about killing those three men. Hold him down." He ordered the other two men.
Ivan tried to squirm away but the two men held him down. "I didn't kill anyone! If I did then I don't remember doing it and I'm sorry!"
"That won't help bring them back from the dead." The doctor knelt in front of him. "This will only hurt a bit. I suggest you don't move your neck."
Ivan closed his eyes, held down and completely helpless as the prick of the needle broke the skin. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing slowed and his mind seemed to have disappeared. He fell into a long, dark sleep.
/
"Hello Ivan. How are you today?" Doctor Arnold smiled at Ivan, who was strapped to a chair in his office by his wrists and ankles.
Ivan could barely keep his head up to answer the doctor. "I don't feel good…and I want to leave."
"Well, I'm afraid you have to stay here until you are cured."
"When is that?"
"When you do everything we ask." He took out some paper and an ink pen. "Now then, I want you to answer all my questions truthfully. If you do this for me, then we'll give you a little more beef stew in your bowl tonight."
Ivan's stomach growled loudly at the promise of more food.
"Well then, shall we get started? First question I have is why are you afraid of automobiles? My workers say that you sometimes shout out in your sleep about running away from them…or they are too 'loud'. Care to explain that? Why are you so scared of automobiles?"
Ivan saw no reason not to answer, and there was that beef stew he was promised. "My mother was killed by one."
Doctor Arnold wrote it down. "Killed how?"
"She…ran into one. It hit her. She went under it. It chopped up her body…the wheels did."
"Why did she run into the road?"
"It was on the farm, on the Duke's farm. She had been ill that day and…and ran right out in front of it. I saw it all happen. I watched her body get twisted from the force of the tires."
"So ever since then you don't like them?" Ivan shook his head. "Well, that's not uncommon. People who have experienced some sort of trauma like that can develop fears associated with it. Although that doesn't explain why you killed three people."
Ivan clenched his fists against the armrests. "I told you…I don't remember doing it." He was told graphic details of his crimes and he just could not believe it. A few days ago, the families of the men he 'murdered' came to voice their hatred for him and beg for his death. During that time, Ivan had been put in a small holding cell to witness their hatred. One man, who was the brother of a victim, spat at him and prayed openly that God would let the Devil drag Ivan down to Hell. No matter how many times he softly apologized to the family members they would not listen to him or offer forgiveness. They cried out for his blood. He was relieved when it was all over and he was sent back to his holding cell.
"There must be a reason for that and it's my goal to find out why. I'll ask this again; do you remember ANYTHING from that night? What were you doing before that card game?"
Ivan, having spent so much time in the cell, alone with his thoughts, was finally able to gather up bits and pieces of that night, but nothing of the murders. "I was with friends…we were relaxing…sharing the opium…and then we decided to go to the tavern. I sat down to play cards like I always did. I think…someone was cheating. And I hate cheaters."
"That 'cheater' was one of the men you killed." He took out a folder. "We have some witness accounts here, telling of what they saw that night. They say you came stumbling in, muttering strange words with bloodshot eyes and shaking. You went mad during a card game. These are signs of addiction."
"Addiction?"
"Opium should be used for medical purposes, not physical enjoyment. You don't remember, but you've had numerous episodes here while your body tried to rid itself of the need for the drug. The opium clogged your judgment, yet that does not explain why you chose to murder three people. I've seen many cases of opium-addicted people and never have any shown any signs of such violence. This is why I have to study you." He smiled. "All that trouble is in your head and we're going to learn about it."
"I…I want to be let go. I don't want to stay here."
He gave a mock sigh. "You should have thought about that before going berserk. You're never going to leave this prison. This is your home now and this is where you will die."
/
'I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy!'
Ivan repeated over and over to himself as he rocked in the straight jacket, his knees fluttering and shaking. They had not let him out of this room for a couple of days and no one came to see him other than to slip in his food bowl and empty his chamber pot. He was fed only once a day and they had stopped giving him beef stew. Ivan did not know what it was, nor did he care. It could have been shit and piss for all knew but it helped to satisfy his hunger for a short time. With no use of his hands, he had to lap up and bite at the food like a dog. His mouth was crusted over with dried bits of the gruel from past days.
Alone with his thoughts and without opium to dull them, Ivan found himself thinking about his old life on the farm. Both the good and the bad. It helped him to get through the days of painful testing. The electric machine was the worst. The only time he screamed and cried was when they brought him to it. But they haven't come for some days now, leaving him alone in this room with nothing and no one to speak to. The only company Ivan had were the other patients he had never seen only heard. The man next to him constantly wept and sobbed, begging to get the 'rats and bugs' off of him. Another man did nothing but sing in moans and shrieks while throwing his body against the wall. The madman noises helped to keep his mind clear…but only for a little while. The solitude and extreme loneliness caused him to hear more voices in his head; voices calling him a 'murderer' and a 'maniac'. Sometimes he found himself talking back to them, but then the voices would make him angry. And when he got angry at them, he would rock his head against the wall to get them to stop. He would bang his head on the same spot until a small blood spot would appear and then he would cease. His throat was so parched one day that he pressed his tongue to the blood and lapped at it, just for a simple taste of liquid. The last time he had FELT a person touch him was when the men in white coats came to wrap something soft around his head. This prevented him from banging his head into the wall. All it really did was send him into a furious rage, which resulted in throwing his whole body against the stone walls. After that, he was poked with many needles until he fell limp and he's been limp ever since. Ivan had no energy at all. It was as if his whole body just shut down.
Until one day, the perfect opportunity arose for escape. The night before, Ivan had been injected with something. Whatever it was helped to bring him back to reality. However, it seemed that the doctor and his associates did not know that it brought him back to his senses and this Ivan used to his advantage. The full planning of it is still a blur to him now, but at the time everything had worked out perfectly. He pretended to be drugged and limp, just waiting for the straight jacket to removed. Once he was free of all things 'white', Ivan slammed his head into the other's face, knocking him to the floor. The other man had little time to react before Ivan sent him flying into an iron door. Ivan then created a distraction, which was letting all of the mentally ill men out from their holdings to wander freely. As the guards and workers rushed in to try and stop all of them, Ivan used this chance to escape. He was the only one still 'sane' in that ward, so it was easy for him to escape.
Now he was running away from the dogs, still exhausted and shaking with fright. He needed to hide. Someplace where the dogs would lose his scent. That was the only chance he had to make it out of this alive. And so he ran; ran until he could see the faint glow of city lights. He nearly cried tears of joy when the city came into view. Ivan stopped atop a hill to look at the lights, trying to find the safest and quickest way to get down. Instead, he heard a loud dripping sound and spelt something foul. Squinting in the dark, he saw a large sewage drainage pipe to his right. This was his best chance at losing the dogs. He slid down the hill, ran towards the pipe and then slipped into something like mud. It came up to his waist, but it wasn't mud. It was indeed sewage from the city. The barking of dogs reminded him why he was here and trudging through the shit and garbage, he climbed up inside the pipe to hide. It was big enough for him to sit in, yet his knees were up to his chest. The smell of the sewage would mask his scent and the dogs would lose track.
It had worked. The men had left and Ivan was free now to rest. And rest he did. When he finally came to, he had lost all track of time. It was the afternoon judging by the height of the sun and the heat. He climbed out of the pipe, dropped back into the sewage pool and returned to dry land. He had to do something about his sewage-covered body, though. Where there was a drainage pipe there was a stream or lake somewhere. Ivan searched the area and came up a babbling brook. It was not for the drainage, but it was much better! He stripped himself of the clothes and washed his body, enjoying the cool feel on his aching feet. Ivan carefully cleaned out the cuts on his feet, and while he let his body dry he kept them in the running water. It would help to clear out any germs. But he couldn't stay idle for long. He tried to wash his shirt and pants of the sludge but they barely came clean. At least they didn't smell as bad now. He put them back on and followed the stream up a little ways to where the water cascaded over a couple of rocks. Cupping his hands, Ivan drank up the fresh cool water until his stomach felt like it would pop. As he was running the water through his hair, he heard the sound of buzzing. Bees? Ivan went to investigate the cause of the buzzing. Among some bushes was a swarm of fat black flies and a very foul stench. Ivan covered his nose while walking over to the bushes, peering around them to behold a dead body.
The body had been there for a couple of days and the flies had already made their home within it. Ivan didn't care about the dead man on the ground. What he saw was the man's clothes, still intact. Ivan stripped him down to his bare body, pasty white and bloated with gas. He changed from his prison clothes into the dead man's shirt, pants, shoes, and coat. They smelled of rotting corpse, but in a few days the smell would fade. Anything was better than the smell of sewage and garbage. Now that he was properly clothed, Ivan began to make his way to the city. Once again he was free, but freedom did not mean that life was going to be easy now. Ivan knew many challenges awaited him in the city. He was an escaped convict now. No one would hire him. He would have to find another way to make a living.
/
A day of begging earned him a gold coin, which bought him half a loaf of bread. The second day of begging earned him nothing. The third day was theft; he stole an apple from a merchant. But as he was munching on the apple, a printed paper pasted to a lamp post stopped him dead in his tracks. On the paper was his portrait, his PRISON portrait. Ivan could read, his mother had taught him, so he was able to make out the words on the paper.
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE!
IVAN BRAGINSKI- MASS MURDERER!
CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS!
ALERT CITY POLICE IMMEDALTY IF SPOTTED!
AWARD: 1,OOO GOLD!
'Oh no…' There was no hope of him finding work now! If these posters are all over the city then everyone will recognize his face! People will turn in their own mothers and children at the promise of money! Ivan had to duck away into an ally to keep himself hidden from the crowd until he could figure out what to do. He had to disguise himself, but how? He could disfigure his face. It would all be worth it so long as he did not end up back in prison. However, if he disfigured his face, finding work will prove twice as difficult. His only option then would be a freak show, or stick to begging on the street.
'Maybe I can hide my face? I can cover it. Hm…that could work.' Ivan tapped his chin in thought. A mask would work, but how would he come by one? Building off the idea of facial disfigurement, Ivan came up with a solution. At the prison mental ward, he saw a few patients bandaged up due to disease or self-harm. Ivan decided he would wrap his face up in bandages, or any cloth he could find and pass himself off a syphilis sufferer. If people saw him they would stay away in fear of contracting it.
He spent the rest of the day rooting through trash bins and searching the streets for clothing long enough to wrap around his face. Eventually he came across an old linen shawl covered in dirt with some holes. It would do the job. Ivan ripped it apart in long pieces and tied them together, making one long make-shift bandage. Using a foggy green puddle of water as a mirror, he started to tie the cloth around his face, keeping free his mouth, eyes, and nostrils. The fabric was itchy against his face, but at least now he won't be recognized. While searching through the trash he found a sharp steak knife and an old pipe, both of which he chose to keep for protection.
"Perfect."
Yet when it rains, it pours. Ivan woke up to the sound of rumbling thunder from his place under an abandoned wagon. He knew he would have to find better shelter than this old wagon. It was hard to see in the heavy rain as he ran down dark streets, trying to spot a place to hide. The soft sound of music fluttered in his ears between the cracks of lightning and thunder. Where was it coming from? Ivan followed it to an old burnt church. That's where the music was coming from. A loud crash and flashing purple light made him yelp and run to the church. It would prove a decent place to hide and to take shelter from the storm. But who was playing that music? It stopped when he entered. Ivan looked around at the broken church, seeing no one and hearing only the sound of rain. He saw some steps and climbed them, being mindful of the weak wood beneath his feet. Judging by that hole in the step someone had already been here. It could have been today or a long time ago. But whatever the reason, Ivan was certain someone was here. If he was alone, then he would assume it was ghost.
As he stepped onto the top floor and entered a room, he saw someone crouched in the far corner by a broken window.
"Wh-who are you?" The person asked, their voice trembling.
'That person…they're all white…white like a ghost!' "Who are YOU?" He pulled out his steak knife, letting the person see that he was baring a weapon. 'Ghost or man, come near me and I will kill you.'
End Chapter 2
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Goodnight Noises Everywhere