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.

The wendigo looked up from the severed arm of a young boy, their deer-like face dripping in blood, ears standing straight. It dropped the appendage down and crawled on all fours around the boulder, locking eyes with baby Alfred who stared at it. Makawee has no idea the the wendigo was behind them. Had no idea that it crawled closer with every second she spent trying to gather the spoiled food they had. But Alfred knew. He watched with innocent eyes as the creature grew ever so closer. Hunger growing rapidly at the sight of a babe and its mother.

Many gasps were heard when the group finally realized what was happening.

They could be killed.

It was only a few feet away now, and little Alfred could smell the scent of death around it. It scared him, and he cried, alerting his mother of his uncomfortableness. She turned around to see what was wrong with her baby when she, too, locked eyes with the ravenous thing. Dropping the food on the ground and moving slowly from the pile, tried not to let her take her over. Her main goal was to get her babies to safety. Be it the closest tribe two miles away or her brother down south. She had to leave.

Standing up, she turned her body to leave. The wendigo stood up and took a step in her direction, and not long after, it ran. Ran towards Makawee. Quickly, she fled the scene with the wendigo following. She jumped and climbed over roots and zig-zagged around trees and other flora that littered her path. But the wendigo never lost her trail. It's hands wiped every time it got close enough, attempting, and trying hard, to at least grab the defenseless Alfred in her back.

It was close, many times, but luckily, Alfred never got hurt.

Makawee could see the edge of the forest. The sound of a river not to far in front of her and a endless land stretching behind it. She knew that wendigoes weren't meant for the sun, they stayed in the shadows, in the dark. And the bright noon sun would hurt the creature significantly. And she was almost there, a few more meters, just a bit more.

"Ahh!" Alfred cried in pain. The wendigo scratched his chin and left arm. Large and deep cuts oozed blood on the baby with each cry. The moment she stepped into the sun, she took off the wrap and examined her youngest child.

Panicked, she rushed to the river to try and clean the wound. His chin was split open a tad bit and his arm had a gash about two inches long. It wasn't bad, but the amount of blood was concerning. Acting quickly, she tore a piece of her skirt off and wrapped his arm. It wasn't the best. She needed to find a shaman or a village to help her further.

"Let's go back to village, yeah?" She smiled at her babies.

Little Matthew stared at his mother and his brother from the pile of cloth a step away. He didn't understand what was wrong but he knew for certain that something was wrong with his brother. Even though he was perfectly normal the moment they began their trek back to the village, he couldn't sleep. Nightmares of the wendigo would plague his mind and keep him from sleeping.

"Nightmares?" Matthias asked. "You had nightmares as a baby?"

"I guess, I don't remember this," Alfred scratched the back of his neck. "But that does explain the scars." Tilting his head up just the slightest bit, the pale streak of skin was easily seen.

"But it doesn't explain the weird shadowy, goopy, stuff that blocked Gilbert when he tried to come here." Francis added. "And we still don't know what we're supposed to be doing 'ere. Your mom said to 'look for the corruption' but we don't even know where it is or how far into your memories it is."

"Well just have to keep going," Matthew says. "And we'll figure it out along the way."

What seemed like five minuets to the group was actually three days. The sun came and went rapidly before slowing down in the late afternoon sky. Makawee looked tired. Dark circles colored her under eyes and her hair pulled back with a woven, tweed-like string. Her stomach growled and her mouth was dry, despite walking along the river. She refused to eat until her baby was healed, she only drank water to produce milk for her sons, but even then it drained her.

Little Alfred couldn't stay asleep. He would drift away and wake with a terrified scream, the feeling of getting cut and the face of the wendigo etched into his mind and haunted him. Poor Makawee couldn't figure out why Alfred wouldn't sleep, it was keeping all three of them awake. Baby Matthew woke up every time Alfred cried in fear that something would harm them.

But when they reached the village, the women of the tribe quickly made their way to the three. They removed the babies from their wrap and comforted them as the rest guided Makawee the nearest tent. She slurred when she spoke, the drowsiness from the past few days catching up on her. "My baby," She slurred. "Can't sleep..."

The mothers took care of the twins. Bathed them and dressed them, exchanging their dirty and blood filled clothes for new, and clean clothes. They talked about what they should do, wait for the mother to wake, or take them to the tribe's shaman?

Turning to the elder as she stepped in, they asked, "Elder, what should we do?" The elder knew that the twins in their arms were different, they had a different energy than the rest of the people in the entire tribe.

"We take them to the shaman,"She says. "I will come with, there is something he must know to save him from the evil within his mind." Baby Matthew cried when he felt the distance between them and his mother separate.  His purple eyes cried rivers of tears the further they got, but Alfred stayed quiet. He was asleep. It wouldn't be long before he wakes though.

"Grandmother," A tall and muscular man walked up, large red and white feathers stuck out of the headpiece he wore, the chief of the tribe. "Where are you going? Whose children are those?"

"They belong to a woman who stumbled into our area." She explained. Annoyance of her grandchild prevalent. "She, and the children, need aid. Especially this one." She stroked the blonde hair that was nearly visible on Alfred's head. "I must consult the shaman for assistance."

"Travel safe grandmother," The chief says. "Ill have my wife tend to their mother."

With a nod, the elder walked away from her grandchild and made her way to the edge of the tent boarder and the river. The shaman liked to reside near water as a way to make peace with the water spirits and offer their ancestors offerings. He was strange. Never aged and never spoke, he stood firm like a spruce tree. 

"Shaman? Are you in here?" One of the young women who followed the elder called. The tent side was filled with sacks of herbs and minerals and anything else that the shaman would need. "We need you help."

"Found him," The grandmother smiled and made her way to where the shaman sat. Back to them and face to the river rushing with the migrating salmon and other creatures. His long black hair was tied in a low ponytail and numerous beaded necklaces decorated his chest. Many had feathers and stones, others had leaves and flowers. Each one with a significance of protection. "It's nice to see you again."

The shaman smiled and looked up to see the well aged grandmother. Dark eyes turned light from the setting sun. She continued, "I need your help with these two children, one has been harmed. His body, his mind, his spirit. Something pains him." He stood and looked at the babies. Matthew lay in one lady's arms crying, his face red and his hands clenched. Alfred was fast asleep in the others arms. Motioning to the crying one, the elder stopped him. "It's the brother."

"Their mother didn't not tell me what hurts him, besides his arm and chin," She picks up Alfred. "But he might've seen something before coming here."

He takes Alfred out of the elders arms and walks inside the tent. Pulling out many vials and herbs, he begins to rid Alfred of the wendigo's memory. And when he was done he tied a small clunky piece of silver from the pouch around his waist to a leather cord and put it around Alfred's neck. The shaman cleared his throat and spoke, shocking the three women inside, "He mustn't take off the silver. Protect against spirits of evil, rids the mind of evil. Both him and brother."

One of the women jumped out of her stupor and asked, "So they won't remember what happened to them? Ever?"

He nodded his head and reverted back to being silent.

"Thank you shaman," The elder smiled and picked up Alfred and left the tent.

The group watched from the outside of the tent as the group of five walked back to the tribe before the same mist engulfed them and the scene around them. The grand hall was back. Marble floors glowed a little brighter than before and the door still stood there, number 1-8 on the front.

"So that's why I have this!" Alfred exclaimed in shock and pulled out the necklace, still in pristine  condition. The clunky piece of silver still dangled from the leather like it did centuries ago. "Huh."