Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. Hiromu Arakawa does. I only own the OC characters.

Description: This one is based off of an animated horror story on Youtube called What's Behind The Wall? on the SomethingScary channel. It's read by Sapphire, back when she was still on the channel. Something for you guys for Halloween and Whumptober, even though I'm not really writing for any of the prompts. I guess you could put this under the Waking Up Restrained prompt if you wanted to.

WARNING: This story contains graphic depictions of violence, gore, body horror, and body mutilation.

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The sound of flesh tearing and screaming tore him from the dredges of unconsciousness. He blinked rapidly, gauging his surroundings. The room he was in was small, but very dimly lit. As awareness came back to him, he came to the realization that every part of his body ached. And that he could feel the cold concrete of the wall he was leaning against.

The thought that he was completely exposed caused panic to flare up within him, jerking into an upright position. He soon discovered something else as he tried to move his limbs: his right arm was gone, the left chained above him by the wrist. The chain held fast when tugged on. His breath caught in his throat. Terror bubbled up inside him, his heart picking up speed.

Another agonizing scream made him jerk his head in the direction of the sound, his loose hair falling around his shoulders. With the dim light the buzzing bulb provided, he could make out a metal table situated in the center of the room. Someone laid on top of it, but he couldn't distinguish them other than the long black hair that spilled over the sides. Standing over this writhing figure was a man, his casual clothes splattered with blood and bits of meat that he didn't want to think about for too long, lest he start to vomit. The man's tousled brown hair framed his face, the glint from the glasses hiding his eyes.

"Finally awake, I see." He jumped, his brain struggling to notice that it was the man who had spoken. The other person, a woman he guessed, was whimpering and sobbing. He nearly gagged at the sight of the blood dripping from the table onto the concrete floor. The man hadn't turned to him when he spoke, and he continued not to. "It's rare that I get the opportunity to get to know someone as famous as you." Something shiny glinted in the dim light, more tearing flesh, another scream. It set his teeth on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He was doing everything he could not to lose himself to blind terror at this point.

Once the woman's screams died down, the man finally turned to him, his dark eyes making his skin crawl. "I apologize for the discomfort," he said, gesturing towards him. "Can't have you performing any alchemy now, can we?" He was confused, but a sharp pain in his left hand made him glance up. He noticed two, very horrifying things. First, his fingernails had been removed. His hand ached with throbbing pain from the wounds, and he struggled to suppress a whimper. The second was the wall he was leaning against. It was covered, top to bottom, with messages scratched into the surface, of victims prior.

Thomas, my love, I'm so sorry

Tell Emma and Jason that I love them

Mom, Dad, I don't want to die here

I want to go home

His heart sank into his stomach. He wasn't the first to be chained up and locked in here. Judging from the wall, there had been dozens. Tears threatened to form, and he swallowed them down. However, the situation was comparatively bleak. Any sort of means for him to transmute had been taken away. Chances of escape were slim. He was stuck in this small, dark room, about to be subjected to the horror that the previous victims had gone through. He started to tremble as the thought consumed him, panic overflowing.

The squelch of tearing meat, screaming. He wanted to sob out loud at the sound. Instead, silent tears were released. He barely registered the footsteps, the man having returned the tool he had been using to a workbench that was set up along the wall opposite the table. There were a multitude of different tools stacked on it. Every single one of them had bloodstains. He could even make out several rolls of duct tape scattered on its surface.

The man washed the blood from his hands in a sink in the corner, whistling to himself. Once he was dried off, he made his way to the right side of the room, opposite the workbench. A doorway swung open, hinges well oiled. "I'll be back for you," he said, the man's tone sending a chill down his spine. He then stepped through the doorway, shutting the panel closed once more.

He shivered, drawing his knees close to his body. He let out the whimper he had been holding this whole time. The figure on the table groaned, shifting around in her bonds. After a few minutes of silence, she attempted speech. "Wh-what's your n-name?"

He was surprised that the woman was able to talk at all, despite all the screaming she was doing earlier. Her voice was raspy and thin, but he could still make it out. He then realized that this was the only person he could talk to normally, a victim just like him. He pushed down the thought of being next up on the literal chopping block and answered. "Edward." His voice sounded small to him, but he was conflicted on whether he should feel embarrassed about it or not.

"Edward," the woman repeated, feeling it on her tongue. "That's a lovely name." She took a few labored breaths, as if the act of drawing in air was exceptionally laborious. "I'm Lily." A pause. "How old are you?"

Ed swallowed. "Thirteen." He heard the sharp intake of breath at his answer. "Jesus Christ," she breathed. "Sick bastard." He said nothing to this, wanting to fold up and shut out his current reality. He wanted to ask her something. When he first opened his mouth, a sob rose up instead, forcing him to choke it down. With a second attempt, he was able to find his voice. "Am... am I gonna die here?" He whined like the child he was, shaking uncontrollably.

Several moments of hesitation. Then, "I don't know." That was answer enough for him. He curled up as best he could with his remaining arm restrained as it was, letting reality crash in on him. He sobbed quietly into his knees, his breaths clipped and haggard.

Al, please. Someone. Anyone. Please, help me.

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Roy tossed the case file on his desk, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. He could feel the third migraine of the week coming on. The past few months have been especially stressful.

After the transition to Central, it was like the activity had been kicked into overdrive. To its credit, it was a big city, the main metropolis of the entire country of Amestris. It was no different from his job in East City anyways; except for working so close to the Fuhrer. Every day was the same old routine: get up, go to work, spend his waking hours sitting behind a desk, filling out mind-numbing paperwork.

And then it struck. A homicide turned into a serial murder. The military was the closest thing Amestris had as a police force, so of course he'd be stuck with this case. Mustang swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. In the amount of time he'd investigated this, there had been over two dozen murders. The body would always be dumped in an alley or in a park somewhere, placed so that they could find it. A way for the psychopath to taunt them.

Every photo was the same. The bodies they found would be horribly mutilated, some missing limbs, others with their eyes gouged out. There was one thing that they all had in common: several pieces of flesh had been flayed off, revealing the tender red meat underneath.

Thus, they had named this bastard "The Skinner."

Mustang sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He let his thoughts roam towards the Elric brothers. He had deliberately kept Fullmetal out of the loop on this investigation. Even though he signed up to be a dog of the military, the boy was still so new to all of this. The kid had just turned thirteen. And this... this was something no person should deal with, let alone a child. So, forgive him for feeling an ounce of anxiety for his subordinate's safety.

Of course, that didn't stop Edward from going wherever he wanted. Although, the only place he really frequented was the library and headquarters. Besides, the killer tended to target individuals who were alone, easier to pluck off the street. And Ed always had his giant suit of armor for a brother practically glued to his hip.

"Roy, my boy!" The exclamation was accompanied by the sound of Maes Hughes bursting into his office, hand raised in jovial greeting. "Glad to see you up and at 'em!"

The interruption made Mustang all but jump out of his skin. His high-strung nerves from the case and his best friend barging in yanked him from his deep musing. He'd be lying if he said this didn't keep him up at night. That brief flash of panic was quickly replaced by irritation. A vein popped out in his temple. "There better be a good reason for this, Hughes," he growled, fingers itching for his ignition gloves.

His friend brushed him off. "Aww c'mon. Aren't the beautiful faces of my wife and daughter not reason enough? Just a quick peek will bring you back into tip-top shape! His vision was suddenly filled with the photos that occupied Hughes's wallet. The smiling faces of Gracia and Elicia stared back at him.

The colonel angrily pushed the photos aside. "Yes, yes, Hughes, your family's wonderful, but if this doesn't have anything to do with-"

"Another thing," Hughes interrupted, stuffing the wallet back in his uniform pocket. His tone had grown serious all of a sudden. "I finished with those forensics from the last crime scene."

Mustang leaned forward, eager for the results. "And what did you find?" he asked. Hughes shrugged, moving to lean against his desk. "It's definitely our guy," he explained. He absentmindedly rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Still nothing new to shed light on his identity. However," he turned his stoic gaze at the colonel, "a pattern was finally established." Maes tensed, muscles bulging under his uniform. "Cross-referencing locations allowed us to narrow down on a location. Whoever he is, our killer has his base of operations on Stockholm Street."

Roy furrowed his brow. Stockholm Street was a quiet, run-of-the-mill neighborhood for Central's sprawling suburbs. Middle to upper middle-class civilians resided there. The last place anyone would think a mass murderer would carry out their sinister intentions.

The phone on his desk rang sharply, rattling in its receiver. Both men snapped their attention to it, aware of the timing. After letting it ring a few more times, Mustang picked it up. "This is Colonel Mustang's office. What is your business?"

"Colonel?" He would recognize that timid voice anywhere. "Alphonse?" Maes's expression widened in shock at the name. Roy couldn't help but feel the same. "What is it? Why are you calling me from a private line?"

"Colonel, it's Ed!" The younger Elric on the other end started going into full panic mode. "We-we had an argument and he stormed off. I tried to go after him, but I lost him just outside the dorms! It's been more than three hours and he still hasn't come back!"

"Woah, woah, woah," Mustang said, barely keeping up with the boy's hasty rambling. "Calm down, Al. I'm sure he's just brooding like most teenagers do."

"But he hasn't been gone for this long before! I think something happened." The desperate concern was clear in Alphonse's voice. Mustang vaguely imagined the suit of armor clenching the phone cord with a tight grip. He sighed, resting his head on his hand. "I'll go look for him, make sure he hasn't gotten into any trouble." He could hear the sound of relief on the other end. "Thank you, Colonel!" Al's voice brightened significantly.

"You're welcome," Mustang replied, placing the phone back in its cradle. He rubbed at his temple, his migraine deciding right then to flare up. Goddammit, Edward, he thought. You're going to be the death of me.

"What did Al want?" Hughes asked, having heard only one side of the conversation. Pain lanced through the colonel's skull. "It's Fullmetal," he answered. "Apparently, he's gone missing. His brother doesn't know where he is."

Maes's eyebrows raised to his hairline as he quickly jumped to his feet. "What happened? Do we know if he's okay?"

Before Roy could answer, Hawkeye gently cracked the door open. "Sir," she said, strong as stone. "A package for you was just delivered."

Mustang raised an eyebrow in confusion. "A package? I didn't order anything." Riza entered the room fully, approaching her commanding officer. "It's addressed to you, sir." Roy stood up when he was given the thin box that was, apparently, meant for him. He scrutinized it intently, turning it over in his hands. There was a folded note taped to the surface. He yanked off the piece of paper, opening it.

What he read made his heart skip a beat.

Colonel,

I hope this finds you in good health. As you've no doubt discovered by now, I had to borrow your subordinate. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

-S.

P.S. Enjoy your gift!

Roy hardly registered that his teeth were clenched so hard that they were creaking. That bastard! His mind kicked into overdrive, his fingers desperately tearing at the tape sealing the package. Maes and Hawkeye watched on in concern, having noticed the colonel's abrupt agitated state.

Finally, Roy tore the tape from the box, yanking open the flaps. He tilted the open end downward, allowing the contents to slide out onto the desk. The cargo inside landed on the wooden surface with a wet slap, tendrils of flesh still stuck to it. His coworkers stared in horror at the gruesome display. It made him gag.

There, lying messily in a small pile, was a set of freshly removed fingernails.

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Author's Note: "Spooky, scary, skeletons send shivers down your spine."

Hey, guys! Been awhile since I've been here. I've just recently got into the mood because of Whumptober and all that. I'm a fangirl for horror, Halloween being one of my favorite times of the year. So many people have read this and are probably on the verge of dying waiting for more, so here it is. Enjoy.

I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting the rest of these chapters with this length for the rest of this story. Gonna have to wait and see.

Praise is appreciated and constructive criticism is encouraged.

See you next time!

-The_Mayflower