[Dream] ★ 001
"Nice meeting everyone. Rest well."
With President Roosevelt's final word, his cabinet members all stood up, leaving the the conference room one by one, all of them looking quite tired. America himself yawned as he stood up.
"Alfred?"
He turned to his Boss, rubbing his eyes. "Yes sir?"
Mr. Roosevelt gave him a long look - something quite similar to a worried father's look - before shaking his head, chuckling something to himself. "Just wishing you a good night. I wouldn't want our nation to pass out from exhaustion."
America laughed warily, but in his voice there was certain reassurance and even hope. "The New Deal is working great sir! I'll be up on my feet in no time."
The President only nodded, his winkles forming a friendly smiling face. "Good, good." He pushed the wheels of his wheelchair, moving towards the door. America followed suit, even offering to push the chair. But his boss only shook his head. "I have a little date after this. I'll have to see you later."
"Ah, of course. Good night, Mr. President!"
He gave his nation a wave, "Good night Alfred. Sleep tight."
America turned when the President's wheelchair disappeared around the corner, and headed towards his special quarters on the second floor. The White House was a creepy house at night, even if it was the great building that housed many, many great presidents. But there was a certain presence - like as if someone was watching him. Everywhere.
Ah, come to think of it. It was Halloween tonight wasn't it?
"Shit..." He hadn't even thought about it since he was so busy. Sure hope he wasn't going to start-
seeing things.
He stopped on his track, unable to move his eyes away from a certain figure.
A silvery figure of a soldier - a British soldier to be exact - was coming down the hall, a hand torch in his one hand and a grim glare fixed on his eyes.
Oh. Crap.
"Y-youuu again! Go home Ed!"
And ghost gave him a disgruntled frown, before swinging his torch towards America. "The name is Sir Edward to you, you filth. And I won't go back until your house is burnt down."
"L-look man. The war is over! It's 1900's for god's sake!"
"LIES!! How dare you try to fill my mind with such nonsense!"
Just as when he was going to run for it, another figure emerged from behind him. It was one of a woman, carrying a load of laundry in her arms. Her clothes are from early 1800's, modest and homely. He knew who that was as well.
"..M-mrs. Adams...?"
"Oh! Alfred. Good to see you. Do you have any dirty clothes to wash? I'm heading to East Room at the moment, you see."
Sir Edward raised his free hand. "I HAVE SOME DIRTY CLOTHES."
"Wash your own damned clothes, you lobster!" Mrs. Adams kicked the soldiers shin. The soldier when down with a surprised yelp, groaning on the ground. Oddly, his ghost torch wasn't burning down anything. Or appreciatively. She turned to America, who was in fact, a block of stone at the moment. "Alfred?"
"Al!? That boy down there?" Oh no. Another one. Another one is coming.
This time it was the ever famous President Lincoln - and he didn't even bother to use the door. He slide through a wall smoothly and entered into his vision.
Why. God. Why.
Even though he was talking to him about something, Mr. Lincoln's words just went through his other ear. The three ghosts stared at each other, their expression all too knowing. The tall Illinoisan cleared his throat gravely and stepped towards America.
"Well, this is the right season."
Suddenly Lincoln's face was illuminated eerily - as if someone put a flashlight under his chin and he snapped his eyes open, his veins popping out of his silvery skin. And a trails of blood flowed down from his head. A left side of his head was gone, revealing a white skull and red, red muscles.
"Boo."
-
*SCREAMS and BOLTS. Looks over at the Dreamberry.*
.... Oh crap. That was recorded wasn't it. Shit.