No matter how much he tried, Sweden couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

He questioned if it was all in his head. Hundreds of people, mainly avid photographers, were gathered here by the river near the town of Selfoss to catch a glimpse of the northern lights. Iceland stood across from him and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He was too focused on setting up his equipment and running a few test shots with his camera pointed toward the skies. The boy had a good head on his shoulders. If anyone could sense if something was off, it would be him.

Yes, it was definitely all in his head. The ghost museum they had visited in Stokkseyri must have let his imagination get ahead of itself.

The show of lights slowly began and Sweden tried to keep his mind occupied by splitting his attention between the skies and his fellow Nordic. Sitting on a reddish-brown fleece blanket, Sweden felt over-dressed with his heavy navy blue peacoat and black leather gloves. After leaving the museum earlier in the day, he was struck with a chill that he couldn’t shake off. Meanwhile, Iceland was dressed lightly in a brown spring jacket with no gloves at all. Almost everyone else wore similar clothing.

“Aren’t ya cold?”

“Not at all. I’m surprised you are though. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little cold in your old age Sví!”

Sweden rolled his eyes but the comment got the both of them chuckling. With just the two of them together, Iceland seemed more laid-back and less hesitant to hide his playful side. He’s sure Iceland doesn’t mean to, but Sweden noticed over the years that Iceland would quickly become uncomfortable and reclusive whenever Denmark and Norway (and to some degree Finland too) became overbearing with their ‘big brother’ personalities. He just wanted to be treated like an adult alongside the rest of them.

He understands that well. After all, Denmark did it to him when they were small children—despite the three of them frequently arguing over who was the oldest. Those arguments died the moment Iceland entered their lives.

So Sweden does just that. He still dotes on him—albeit more subtly than the others do. But in return, he is rewarded to hear more in-depth things about Iceland’s life. Just on this trip alone, he has heard of the late-night calls with Indonesia, the camping trip in Hiiumaa with the Baltics, and the coffee dates with Liechtenstein in Vaduz. He felt grateful that Iceland could trust him like that.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The colours quickly grew more intense. Shades of green, blue, and purple danced across the sky and their colours reflected against the river below. Loud gasps of delight erupted from the crowd on the ground. Iceland was mesmerized by the sight. Even though he had seen this millions of times, it never failed to put his mind at ease. Any worries he had about his life would immediately wash away. With a hand placed on his left shoulder, Sweden surprised Iceland by coming up close at his side. The average person would never be able to tell, but he could see that tiny grin form on Sweden’s face. He was just as ecstatic to see the lights as he was.

“Gettin’ some good shots?”

“Yeah,” he nodded before he returned his focus to the camera. “The multicoloured lights always make the best shots.”

Sweden tucked his hands into his coat pockets. He watched him work and noted how meticulous Iceland was with each shot. Seeing him like this reminded him so much of Norway, right down to the focused but elated expressions. Norway was also a photographer who loved to shoot landscapes just like him. But Sweden would never dare say that out loud. Iceland would quickly get annoyed whenever comparisons arose between him and his brother, even as a joke.

We’re nothing alike. Don’t say dumb things like that.

He kept his comments to himself and continued staring up at the skies. He didn’t need to ruin the perfect day they’d had together.

The lights had lasted for around twenty minutes when dark clouds began rolling through. Everyone in the crowd knew it was their sign to call it a night. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The camera Iceland had been using throughout their trip had begun flashing a warning that the battery was running low. Sweden helped him pack his equipment and get the bags into Iceland’s trunk. The blanket Sweden used earlier remained unfolded and got tossed into the backseat. With everything packed, they were ready for the hour’s drive back to Reykjavík.

But there it was again. That feeling that someone was watching. Sweden was so certain about it.

“What’s wrong?” Iceland asked. Sweden was leaning against the open passenger door as he searched around the pitch-black landscape. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, just that it was something.

“We’re bein’ watched…”

“Huh? From what?”

“Dunno but—”

Laughter.

A child’s laughter.

It was such a high-pitched noise that rang inside his ears. He hated that he couldn’t see where it was coming from. There were no streetlights in this part of the country. The only light visible came from the inside of Iceland’s car and the headlights of others as many began driving away from the scene and onto the main road.

Sweden’s frustrations hit a boiling point. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a black flashlight. He slowly made his way toward the river. Iceland tried to call him back however Sweden ignored his pleas. A frustrated sigh fell from his lips, “I'm never taking you to that ghost museum ever again,” He had no choice but to follow behind him.

Sweden hadn’t noticed earlier that the water was much lower than he had anticipated. Boulders of various shapes and sizes poked through the water, especially along the shoreline. He swung his flashlight around and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The mysterious sounds of laughter from before had also disappeared. Was it his mind playing tricks on him again?

“Did ya happen to hear a child laughin’ earlier?”

“A child?” Iceland pondered, “The crowd was mostly full of photographers but I’m sure I saw a few families with small kids there. Maybe it was that you were hearing?”

Sweden made a disgruntled grunt as he appeared furious with himself. He hated how out of character this was for him. He could never recall a moment in time when he acted this paranoid before.

But on the furthest rock to his left, his flashlight picked up something stuck against one of the boulders. The two men investigated and discovered it was a small grey blanket. They had wondered if it was forgotten by one of the families from earlier. Upon closer inspection though, they noticed it was covered in mud, the material looked faded, and the bottom tip of the blanket had been submerged into the water. It was clear it had been here for some time.

“Sví, we should go. There’s no one here,” Iceland said as he tugged on Sweden’s arm. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

It looked as if Sweden had finally come to his senses and the two men walked back to the car. But Iceland took one more look over his shoulder. Near the river, a small child stood there in a white gown. A short blond boy, possibly no older than three, hugged the dirty grey blanket that Sweden discovered earlier. Iceland put a finger to his lips and shook his head. The little boy’s smile turned to an angry frown and disappeared towards the water.

Iceland was open to sharing many things about his life with Sweden. But the stories of the spirits that inhabited this part of his home were not one of them. No one needed to know he could see things that mortals could not. He was determined to keep it that way.