The sad tale of Frederick Charles Herobrine

Chapter 1
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!! Harold opened the door to find a most unusual delivery had been made by Mr Green. On his doorstep lay a ragged figure with tattered, feathered wings wearing nothing but a pair of grey, formal trousers that were torn to shreds. Long, brown hair bordered his ashen face, which was sparsely dotted with freckles. His eyes were wide and grey, and his whole skinny body was covered in bloodstains. "I just went out to feed the pheasants and I found him wandering around the fields. Looked all lost and confused, the poor thing. I recognised him as one of yours and brought him here." explained Mr Green. Mr Green was the gardener, but he also tended to the animals occasionally. He particularly liked the pheasants. "D-daddy!" The boy cried, and proceeded to hug Harold's leg, wiping a mixture of blood and saliva down Harold's trousers. He winced. Breathing a long sigh, he shook him off, for the boy was indeed his son, and had disgraced him once again. "Frederick," Harold sighed, again, because he sighs quite a lot, "what have you been doing to get so cut? And whatever it is, please don't do it again." However, he was wrong. Frederick may have been covered in blood, but after realising he wasn't cut Harold had a sinking feeling as he began to realise what happened. He bent down so he was level with Frederick, who was now licking his hands clean. "Frederick," he said again in a low, stern voice, "what did you do in the fields." He stared deep into his son's eyes, waiting for an answer. "I... I was playing with the chickens..." He replied, his wide grin getting even wider, if that was even possible. It took a while for Harold and Mr Green to realise what had happened. Their fears were confirmed when Mr Green pulled out a slender, green tail feather from Frederick's hair... "Oh d-dear..." Gasped Mr Green shakily. As he held the feather close to his chest, tears formed in his eyes. Harold didn't quite know what to say. Eventually, he was able to form the words "I am so deeply sorry, Mr Green, and I'm sure Frederick is too." He gave a stern glance at Frederick, but Frederick just stood up started laughing, which was most unhelpful. "Why should I be sorry?" He replied, 'I've been a good boy!!!" Before he carried on laughing and collapsed onto the doorframe. "No! You have not been good! This is the complete opposite of good! You've been very bad! Bad boy! Not good! Not good at all!" Harold yelled, trying to get it through Frederick's mind that he was in trouble. Immediately after hearing the words 'bad boy', Frederick's face fell. He stopped laughing and his lip began to quiver. He dashed inside the house and up the stairs. "What's up with him?" Asked Mr Green solomly through his silent tears. "Nothing," Replied Harold, giving another sigh, "he just gets a bit... Excited..." Mr Green and Harold exchanged nervous glances. They both knew what was really up with Frederick...

Chapter 2
Frederick was in his room, tearing at the curtains of his four poster bed with his skinny arms. He had now got dressed, and was wearing a black tailcoat with a white shirt underneath and a cravat, which was slightly chewed. Halfway through feeling sorry for himself, he had decided that he wasn't the one in the wrong. No, he had only tried to have fun, as the last few weeks had been pretty boring. If his father didn't like his two day trip to the fields then tough, he would just have to watch as all hell broke loose in the bedroom. He was just about to start gnawimg on the foot of the bed, when Beverly walked in tentitavely. Beverly was a very shy maid, about 19 years old, but she looked 16. Her wavy pink hair was tied into two ponytails, one either side of her head, and her wide, aquamarine eyes made it look as if she was always worried about something. "E-excuse me, Master Frederick," she called in her soft, quiet voice, "but your supper is ready, and I know how you don't like it cold." Frederick turned his head to the side slightly, as if he was having trouble understanding what she wanted. "Your supper is ready, Frederick." She repeated. Frederick stood up and straightened his coat. "Yes, yes, I will be there." He replied sharply. He removed a stray feather from his hair that had come from his pillow, which he had torn apart, and made his way downstairs. Supper that night was a sollom affair. There wasn't much to talk about other than Frederick's 'holiday', and no-one wanted to talk about that. "So, Steven," Harold said, trying to start a conversion, "how have things been for you?" Steven was Frederick's brother; a tall boy of 16 with short, brown hair and thin, purple eyes. He was a polite, quiet boy, yet a little stupid. Despite being of muscular build he rarely needed to use his strength. Before Steven could answer his father's question, Frederick butted in. "Nothing interesting, probably," he snorted sarcastically, "the only exciting thing that's ever happened to him is when he punched Francis." Ah, yes, he could remember that moment quite well, when his brother had had a sudden flash of anger and had lashed out on their guest. This was something all to common for Frederick himself, but Steven? No, that was quite a rare spectacle.

Chapter 3
He remembered that moment in great detail, right down to the sharp smell of Francis' aftershave. Frederick had been sitting in one of the many hallways of their home, enjoying a recently caught snack, when he was approached by a tall boy in a black suit, with slick, black hair and piercing green eyes. This was Francis. "Hello, little lunatic." He sneered sarcastically. Frederick snarled and turned away; he didn't want him to try to eat his food. Despite this, however, Francis noticed that Frederick was holding something, and he lent over him in order to see what it was. "Ooo, what's that you have there?" He asked. He bent over further, and saw that Frederick was holding a dead squirrel, with several bites taken out of it... Frederick let out a loud hiss and curled up over the squirrel, as Francis tried not to be sick. After a few minutes of retching, he bent down next to Frederick. "You really are just as crazy as they say, aren't you?" Francis sighed, and attempted to give Frederick a pat on the back. This just resulted in Frederick snapping at Francis' hand, who pulled it away just in time. He fled, leaving Frederick to eat his snack in peace. By the time Francis got back, Frederick had finished eating and was now licking the blood off of his fingers. He appeared to be arguing with Steven, which got Frederick's attention. Steven didn't often shout, and certainly never at guests. He only shouted in his sleep, or when things got too loud and he needed to be heard. Frederick span round to get a better look at what was going on. "L-look, I only wanted to see if it was a family thing... These things tend to be-" "THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH MY FAMILY!" "It tends to be inherited... I was just wondering where he, that is to say, your brother-" "WHY ARE YOU BRINGING HIM INTO THIS?! THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HIM!" Francis began to become a little angry too, after he remembered what Steven was usually like. "I'm pretty sure this has everything to do with him!" "IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY FAMILY YOU CAN GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE!" "I like the house, I just don't like sharing it with your nutcase brother!" That was the last straw. Steven completely lost it. Letting out a tremendously loud roaring sound, he swung his fist and hit Francis right in the face. Francis gave a manly yelp and fell to the floor, and Frederick burst out laughing, as seeing Francis getting his comeuppance pleased him. He watched as Francis scrambled to his feet, a little dazed, and make off down the hallway. He couldn't quite remember the rest, because he was in such hysterics laughing that he wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him. All he remembered past the moment Francis stood up was feeling a hand on his shoulder, and someone was talking to him, although he couldn't make out what they were saying over the sound of his own laughter. When he eventually came back to his senses, he discovered that the hand and voice had belonged to Steven, who had been crying, and judging by the amount of tears, he had been crying since he had began shouting...

Chapter 4
That wasn't quite how Steven remembered the event. Steven didn't remember much of it, to him it was mostly a blur, but what he could remember he would surely never forget. He could recall meeting Francis in a hallway, examining the paintings on the walls of Steven's ancestors. His family went way back; a long line of valkyrian ancestors that had lived in the mansion for thousands if years. Steven was the first non valkyre to be born in the family, as his mother was human. Sadly, she had fallen ill whilst pregnant with Frederick, and died shortly after his birth. "What are you doing?" Steven asked Francis. Shocked at hearing Steven's voice, Francis spun round to come face to face with Steven. "Oh, I was just trying to, *ahem*, find out where 'it' started." Replied Francis, all to casually. "Where what started, Francis?" Steven asked, his voice raised slightly. He had an idea what Francis was talking about, and didn't like what he was thinking. "Oh, you know..." Francis replied; he dropped his voice to a whisper "...Frederick's condition..."

Eh. It's not finished yet :I