Bucky knew the risks that came with buying an older house - weaker foundations, iffy plumbing, perhaps the occasional draft from unsealed windows. It just meant he had something to busy himself with, he always enjoyed some DIY.

The house was secluded, far from neighbours and quaint for just him - he liked it. Something he didn’t quite prepare himself for, however, were the items he placed around either going missing, or turning up somewhere completely different.

It had been a while since someone inhabited this house, your spirit left to wander the empty rooms for what was most likely eternity. He was a new face, a new presence that seemed to do a pretty good job at fixing up the house, you thought.

With nothing better to occupy your time, you did what you do best, and that was some classic haunting. Nudging objects on shelves, fiddling with books, flickering a few lights. It was amusing how he’d furrow his brows, and then just move on like nothing had happened.

If the house were haunted, Bucky had accepted it at this point. He’d fought aliens for crying out loud, he could deal with a ghost. Or two, but he hoped it was just the one - if there were any, he couldn’t quite prove anything just yet.

He’d spent most his morning today slathering plaster across the multitude of holes in all the rooms, and had settled on the couch reading a book to wait for it to dry. A small shuffling sound from the shelf above him had his ears perking up, and his hand shot out to catch a picture frame as it fell from the short height.

He narrowed his eyes at the object, and huffed, looking around the room as if he were trying to spot the culprit.

“Very funny.” He mumbled, setting the frame down on the coffee table beside him and sitting up a little straighter, focus now torn between his surroundings and his book.