Hello everyone! It's been quite a while since I posted anything on Fanfiction. I've been so busy with schoolwork I haven't had much time to work on the stories already in production (check my profile for more information). I've lately taken a falling for Hetalia, so to celebrate my first Hetalia fanfic (as well as get myself reacquainted with the site again) I decided to challenge myself and post a series of short creepypastas (Hetalia rendered, of course) each day for the month of October. You can find each of the original creepypastas online. I hope you enjoy!

*The Spanish version of the story can be found here: s/9092918/1/Hetalian-creepypastas

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.

It was the 30th of October, the last world meeting for the month. America was only too eager to get it over with. The first reason was because he was really looking forward to scaring the living daylights out of Japan with his costume this year– a zombie killer covered in fake blood. The thought alone made him snicker.

The second reason, though, was one that made his stomach plummet– the meeting was being held at night. Now America would never consider himself a believer in spirits and demons per se, but he always figured it was best not to tamper with things that might hint of being superstitious. And the night before Halloween would fall into that category…for some reason known only to him. "The sooner you get all the issues resolved the sooner you can leave," America's boss had told him after America had expressed his 'concerns,' "Honestly, it's not like you have to stay there all night."

America gulped as he made his way up the stairs of the building. It was already 8:00pm, and meetings usually took about an hour before everyone gave up trying to make any nonexistent progress and went home. By America's calculations, they should be out of here long before midnight.

"Are you okay, America?" Japan asked his friend when America walked into the room, oddly more quiet than usual.

"Yeah, you bet! I just want to hurry and get this done. Gotta' get ready for trick-or-treating tomorrow; the kids love coming to my house." Japan smiled. He never understood why America, despite his obvious fear of ghosts, always got excited over the only day of the year that holds reverence for them.

America watched impatiently as the meeting went underway. He kept glancing at the clock. 8:10…8:20…8:30…8:55…9:07– why wasn't this meeting over with already? Did all thirty members actually have something worthwhile to say? Finally, at 11:07 the meeting was finished. "Okay everyone, this was a great get-together and all, but what do you say we all get the heck out of here and go home?" America laughed to the group. Everyone gave him puzzled looks.

"What's up with you, aru?" China asked, suspicious.

"Ja, why do you want us to leave so badly?" wondered Germany.

"N-no reason," the American had a strained smile. He wasn't very convincing.

"I say we should stay here until America tells us what is going on," Russia suggested with a grin of his own.

"I second with big brother," Belarus added stubbornly.

"Why in the world would we agree to that?" England eyed the two nations irately, "The idiot probably just wants to get a burger before his favorite fast food closes."

"No, I just–"

"Honhonhon, do you have a girl you are meeting up with?" a grinning France questioned slyly.

"Oh, you're dating? Congratulations!" South Korea applauded. Even Lithuania looked sympathetic after hearing the news.

"I'm not dating! It's that–"

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" wondered a confused Japan. "In that case, please forgive us for holding you up."

"I know I have somewhere I need to be," growled Switzerland, "I've left Liechtenstein home alone long enough. I'm leaving."

"Thank you!" America sighed loudly, exasperated. And people thought he never got a clue.

Everyone stood up and headed for the door. Austria, the first to reach the door, pulled. "What? Why are the doors locked?" For a momentary second, everyone in the room paused.

"Locked?" Hungary was the first to ask, "What do you mean?" She also pulled the handles, but the large oak doors remained firm.

Australia stepped forward. "Well, mates, it seems we 'ave a problem," he murmured after he too tried and failed to open the doors. Twenty-nine pairs of eyes turned to a now shaking American.

"H-h-hey, don't look at me. I was the one trying to get all you guys out of here. The building closes at 11:15."

"You git! Why didn't you tell us sooner?" England yelled at him.

"Because I thought we would be out of here by now."

Without any warning, the lights went out. Several nations cried in surprise. Fortunately, the room's emergency lights were still on, flooding the room with a dim crimson glow.

"Heeey! We're still in here!" Prussia began banging on the doors, trying to catch anyone on the outside's attention. There was no answer.

"I can't believe they didn't check to make sure we hadn't all left. Those idiotas!" Romano swore. Spain went over to try and comfort him; the latter instantly pushed him away.

"I'm scaaared," shivered Italy, also making his way over to his brother.

"Isn't there any way to get out?" Canada asked his older twin, the latter shaking his head sadly.

"No– once everyone locks up for the night, that's it. No one's coming back until early tomorrow morning." Then he smiled. "We can try going out through the window!"

"I didn't think I'd have to remind you of this but we are on the fourth floor," Germany was quickly losing his patience with the boy, "We can't try going out through the window."

There was momentary silence. "So what do we do now?" Finland eventually asked everyone's thoughts. Japan became thoughtful.

"We can try and find something to entertain us until the staff returns," he suggested.

"Like what?" Seychelles questioned.

"We could…tell stories…" offered Greece. Turkey snorted.

"Yeah, and I'm sure we'd all love to hear the great tales of how your people used to run around a stadium stark naked."

"Technically…they were my mother's…"

"I like that idea," Ukraine chimed, "Storytelling!" Even Egypt and the Netherlands nodded in silent agreement.

"What kind of stories should we share?" Latvia and the other Baltics were beginning to favor the idea as well.

"Tomorrow is Halloween. How about ghost stories?"

"No!" America shouted at Canada's idea, "No ghost stories!"

"Why? Too scared?" taunted England, smirking evilly. "And I thought you had grown up. I guess you are still more a kid than a hero."

"A what? A kid?" America growled from his wounded pride. "I'm not a kid! Fine– let's tell spooky stories. But they have to be creepypastas, got it?" There was soon a murmur of confusion floating through the room.

"Cre'py'stas? What 're t'ose?" Sweden questioned.

"And are they about pasta?" Italy wondered excitedly.

"Not at all," Estonia answered him, "They are a collection of texts, images, and videos that are supposed to greatly unnerve the audience. Think of them as like urban myths or scary legends that originated on the internet. They're supposed to make you jump at night." Italy began to shiver again.

"Then why are they called 'pastas'?"

"I'm sure each of us has come across one every now and again," reasoned Denmark with a grin, "Alright! I say we get this party started!"

"Well, it's going to be a short party 'cause there aren't any creepypastas that scare me," America had that forced grin on his face again.

"Really? There isn't a single creepypasta that scares you?" Russia eyed him suspiciously.

"Heh heh, nope!" Truth be told, America had forced himself to read all the most popular creepypastas he could find just so that, on the off chance Britain tried to scare him with some "new" story he heard, America wouldn't react. He didn't get much sleep on those nights, but at least he was prepared. "I heard all about Jeff the Killer and the Smiling Dog. Even Slenderman doesn't spook me. And since those are the only real scary creepypastas out there, I don't think this is going to be a bother for me."

"So that's why you suggested creepypastas," muttered England darkly, slightly annoyed the lad actually thought ahead to prevent himself from being frightened.

"…But America, you do know those aren't the only scary creepypastas out there?" America slowly turned to look a Japan, his smile clearly becoming more and more forcibly strained.

"Huh?"

"Not even close," the Japanese said with a tiny smirk, "The internet is called the World Wide Web for a reason. Stories from all over the globe are shared, with sites devoted to nothing but finding the most obscure tales." He turned to the group. "Here's an idea– why don't we each tell one story, one that isn't well-known. That way even America can join in on the fun."

Said nation gulped while everyone else nodded in approval. What in the world did he just get himself into?

The nations excitedly pushed back all the furniture and sat in a large circle on the floor. If they had logs in the middle it would have almost seemed like they were gathered around a campfire. Before sitting down, Japan grabbed several sheets of blank paper, tearing them into slips.

"Here, I just made thirty strips. I'll put them in a pile and when one of us finishes telling a story I'll take one strip from the pile." The others murmured their agreement.

"So…we just have to tell scary stories about ghosts and pasta?" Italy was still confused. A loud, exasperated groan filled through the air.

"No, Italy," sighed Japan, "Just a scary story that you heard will do. It doesn't have to be about pasta. How about I go first, to give you an example…"

Sickness

Based off of "Sick"
Credited to: David Feuling

Warning(s): Implied insanity

Taking care of my six brothers and sisters is a very tiring job, but is it wrong of me to say that I enjoy it immensely? Each of them was struck by a mysterious illness about two years ago, but I was spared. They gradually grew weaker and weaker to the point that they can't even leave their own beds to tend the gardens. I am left with doing all the cooking, cleaning, washing—everything. But I don't mind. It's but a small price to pay. Big brother used to take us all on long walks in the park or let us lie outside underneath the night canopy to watch the stars twinkle overhead. Now he's lucky to have the energy to sit up every morning as I give him his medicine. It's almost unbearable to see them all in such a state.

They've each lost a lot of weight over the two years. They used to have thin, almost supermodel bodies before; now they're beginning to emaciate, their bones starting to show through their once radiant skin. Speaking has become almost a battle for them, even for Yong Soo, who's the most talkative out of all of us. Rarely do their voices go above a whisper; often times too shaky or feeble to comprehend completely. They're always cold, so I always keep the heat on and cover them with mountains of blankets. I always remember to do that– one time I forgot and found poor Kaoru shivering and chattering uncontrollably underneath his thin sheets.

Even though I am there for my siblings as much as I can, I know they sometimes tire of seeing only me every day. Every so often I invite some of my other friends to come visit them. My brothers and sisters really seem to like it whenever guests come over. They can't 'hang out' in the traditional sense, but they get to talk and laugh and enjoy the company, things I sometimes have trouble doing due to my preference to refrain from speaking. On those days it is almost as if they were never sick to begin with.

I love each of my siblings dearly, which is why I go to the greatest of lengths to make them happy. Even though they are frail and it hurts them to do so, they are always looking at me with a smile, saying "Kiku, you're doing a great job," and knowing in their hearts that my efforts are truly sincere. I deeply appreciate the sentiments, so grateful for the mutual love for one another. It's these moments I truly adore—these moments of always being together with my family that I have constantly envisioned as a child. One day, when they are all feeling thankful—so thankful, in fact, that nothing in the world could ever upset them—I think I'll confess to them that I was the one who's been poisoning them the whole time.