There's this fanfiction I read some years ago (can't find it for the life of me. Think it was on fanfiction.net) that had the plotline that young Alfred was almost snatched by the vengeful ghost of Eleanor Dare since she was angered that her family/daughter died while Alfred -who had been Virginia Dare's playmate-lived on and would will continue live on for eternity
My headcanon is that prior to almost being led to his (likely temporary) death by a vengeful spirt, Alfred had no fears relating to the super natural. Even before Arthur showed up, America had long been visited by those who stayed behind after their death. And Arthur probably introduced him to quite a few friendly ghosts back in England. And even more ghosts started showing up as the colonists settled in. Baby America could often be found babbling at a seemingly empty room or to himself while playing out in the fields. Honestly, before Matthew moved in, the ghosts of New England were baby Alfred's closest companions
So not only was little Alfred naturally trusting of ghosts, but he knew Eleanor and saw nothing wrong with following her down to the icy cold river in the middle of the winter. When she attempted to drag him under the ice, not only did he develop a life-long fear of ghosts but the seeds of his dislike of the cold were planted.
He was so deeply traumatized by almost being offed by the pissed-off ghost of Eleanor that the chemistry of his brain was forever changed. But it's not that he can't still see ghosts. America totally can. Like, he sees them clear as day or as clear as Arthur or Matthew do. However, he refuses to acknowledge them. He could be standing in a room of 20 ghosts (some that he may have communicated with as a child) and he will stead-fast refuse to admit that he actually can.
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Royal Red Bros Week 2024 - Day3
@royalredbrosweek
Prompt: Day 3: Spirits/Ghosts || Secrets
Rating: T
Relationship: England + Canada
Word Count: 841
Read on AO3
Bumps in the Night
It was an old house. There were bound to be creaks and thumps from old plumbing or animals that had made a home in its walls. But the longer he stayed there, and the more he listened, he started to hear laughter along with what sounded like a child running.
Arthur was freaked out at first. As much as he had an interest in the occult and supernatural, actually experiencing it made him tremble. But he didn’t have the funds to move, and it wasn’t like it ever went beyond sounds. So Arthur stayed put and eventually got used to the strangeness.
But still, curiosity remained.
“Hello?” Arthur called out one night, just before going to bed. The spirits seemed most active in the night. “I know you’re there. We’re going to be stuck together for a little while it seems, and well…I figured we should know each other a bit.”
There was no reply. After a few more tries, he went to bed. There was no thumping or laughing that night.
Weeks went by, and each night, he called out to the spirits only to get no answers and a quiet night. He was about to give up when his last call was answered by his closet door swinging open.
Arthur jumped. Cautiously, he rose from his bed and made his way over. In the closet, on the top shelf, an old rag doll with sandy yellow yarn for hair and blue button eyes sat. How had he not noticed it before?
The poor thing was worn, dirty, one of its legs barely hanging on by a thread. Having always had a soft spot for dolls, Arthur decided to fix it up. Perhaps it could be a peace offering for the spirit or spirits in the house.
His next few days off were spent working on this doll, giving it a wash, replacing its split yarn hair, making it a new outfit, and most importantly stitching that leg back up. It almost looked good as new when he was done.
Having worked late into the night on the finishing touches of his project, Arthur started to node off at this desk, body too heavy to drag to bed.
“Um…S-Sir…?” a voice called. The voice of a child.
Arthur groaned, burying his face into his arm.
“Sir. You should get to bed.”
Arthur bolted up, his sleepy brain remembering that he was supposedly living alone. “Wha–Where?”
“Sorry…S-Sorry,” the voice whimpered.
“It’s alright,” Arthur drawled out, looking around groggily. “I assume you’re one of my surprise roommates.”
“Uh…I-I guess?”
“Can you show yourself or…”
“I’m down here.”
Arthur quirked a brow, looking around once more until his eyes landed on the doll.
A whisper came from the doll: “My name is Matthew.”
Arthur blinked. He shouldn’t have been so shocked considering he had been aware of the spirits for over a month now.
“Wh-What’s yours?” Matthew continued.
“Uh…Arthur.”
The two stared at each other in silence. Or at least, Arthur thought Matthew was staring. Though the boy’s voice emanated from the doll, it remained in a slouch position, mouth still drawn in its stitched smile.
“I-I’ll try to get my siblings to quiet down for you,” Matthew finally said. “S-S-So you don’t have to leave or anything. It will be like we aren’t even here–”
“Slow down lad.”
“Sorry…I’m sorry…”
Arthur smiled softly. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You can just relax. I’m not mad at you or your siblings. I have just been curious about what exactly has been going on. How many of you are there?”
Matthew hesitated for a moment. “Four of us. Including me.”
“I see. Brothers, sisters?”
“J-Just brothers. I-I don’t know if I should be speaking about this.”
“Why not?”
“I…I-I…”
“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay," Arthur sighed, rising to his feet. "Well anyway. I should get to bed.”
“Oh…right…”
“Don’t sound so down. You can always talk to me whenever I’m around. I’ve always wanted to meet some ghosts actually.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” Arthur collapsed onto his bed. “Now I don’t know if ghosts need sleep, but I do, so you should rest a bit too.”
“O-Okay…I don’t have to go back into the closet do I?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Silence rested over them once more. Arthur continued to watch the doll, and though it did not move and its expression never changed, it was as if he could feel the sadness of the boy possessing it. He got up and picked up the doll, laying it on the other side of the bed.
“There,” Arthur gave a triumphant huff, “I’m sure that’s far more comfortable than a hard desk.”
“Really, I’m fine. It was far more comfortable than the–”
“Shhh. Rest. Now that I’m here, I’m going to make sure you're comfortable. Spirit or not, everyone deserves that.”
Arthur tucked Matthew in.
“Goodnight Matthew,” he murmured.
“Goodnight…”
There was no more argument from the little doll.
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