Page 19 of The Haunting of William Thorn

It wasn’t even midday, and William already needed a stiff drink.

Instead of moving directly to the village shop, William changed course for the pub.

From the time on his phone, he knew it was 11:36 a.m. But Dutch courage was exactly what he needed, even into his short five minute visit to Stonewell.

This was the first time his phone had signal since he arrived at Hanbury, and William expected at least a text from someone.

But there was nothing. Even his emails were lacklustre.

The only thing of interest was a message from his architecture firm in London asking for some approval on a recent kitchen redesign for the manor.

William didn’t want to think about the manor right now, so he steered himself towards the Fox Burrow Inn while pocketing his phone.

A bell rang above him, announcing his arrival. For the time of day, the pub was relatively full. Many heads turned his way as he stepped into the warmth of the fire-lit space with its red-leather seats and ale-stained tables scattered around the room.

When he reached the bar and ordered a pint of Guinness and black, he knew the conversation around him had quietened because of him.

“You’re the boy who owns Hanbury Manor, right?”

A chill crept over William’s neck as he turned and looked at the first person brave enough to address him. The pub reached new levels of silence, every patron not bothering to be less obvious as they listened in.

The man standing before William was of stout build, with a billowing belly and red-vein-covered cheeks.

William could imagine that the man’s eyes would have once been his best feature because they were more silver than blue.

Except now, wiry brows framed them, wild and untamed, much like the full beard damp with the froth of beer he was drinking.

“Is it that obvious?” William replied, glad someone actually had it in them to talk to him. Considering even the barman hardly said a word when William placed his order, it was surprising.

“We know an outsider when we see one,” the man replied, lifting his hand from the bar, wiping it down his shirt and offering it to William. “The name’s Mike Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” William lied, taking the offered hand in his. It was as large as a giant with rough palms that spoke of years of hard labour. “I’m William Thorn.”

“Oh, we know all about you, Mr Thorn. Although, I wouldn’t let that bother you.

Small towns and all that, it comes with the territory.

Especially since most of us still living have ties to Stonewell since before we were but babies in our mothers’ tummies.

You, on the other hand, are fresh meat. Not often we get city boys venturing this far out. ”

It was the second time Mike had referred to William as a boy, and it was beginning to grate.

“Well, on that note…” William had to practically pry his hand free. “I should get a table. Don’t let me keep you from your beer–”

“Perhaps this is a stupid question, but you’re rather young to be living such a big house all alone, aren’t you?”

William felt his defensive nature rise to the bait. “I didn’t realise youth had anything to do with the capability of achieving anything?”

His sarcasm was clearly lost on Mike as it went right over his head.

“A big house like Hanbury Manor? I think it does. I don’t know if you know this or not, but a lot of folks are very unhappy you own it,” Mike said, and the shuffle of those watching throughout the pub seemed to prove it.

“Hanbury’s been a part of the Thomas family for a long time.

It should’ve stayed that way. At least that’s what I think. ”

“Honestly, that opinion has come through loud and clear.”

The barman carefully slipped William’s half pint over to him, almost as if worried about disturbing the conversation the entire pub seemed hellbent on listening to. William took it with a smile and held it to give his hands something to do but shake.

Mike leaned against the bar, blocking William’s way around him. “So, what are you running from then?”

“Excuse me?” Heat rose in his cheeks, staining them red. William’s neck itched which was a sign it was growing splotchy. “I don’t think I just heard you right.”

“Oh, I think you did.” Someone sniggered from their seat, entertained by Mike’s bashful attitude.

“Hanbury’s the type of place people go to bury secrets.

No one sticks around long either.” Mike looked around for help from everyone listening, and he got it because they all nodded, in haunting tandem, like William had entered a town of robots.

“So it’s only natural that one wonders what a boy like you is doing in a place like this, when your life is back in London. ”

There’s that boy reference again. I give him one more before I go full Housewives of New York and throw this pint over him.

“And how do you know my life is back in London? In fact, how do you know anything, Mike?”

“William Thorn, celebrated children’s author… one quick internet search comes up with a host of stories relating to you. I’ve always liked puzzles, Ma said I was pretty good at them as a young’un.”

William’s blood thrummed in his ears, drowning out the sound of everything around him for a split second.

Mention of this job – the one he left behind a year ago – soured his stomach. But it was what else that Mike had discovered during his Google search that worried him.

“Sorry, but what’s any of this got to do with me and Hanbury?” William snapped, ready to smack that beer out of Mike’s hands.

Mike shrugged, unbothered. “Just wondering, that’s all. Neighbours worrying about neighbours, just like the Lord wants. You’re somewhat of a local celebrity here now. Though I suppose you’re used to that kind of attention. If you came here trying to escape it, that was the wrong decision.”

“Local celebrity? Ha. I’m beginning to think I don’t have any fans around here at all.” William eyed the crowd, only further proving his point. “Not even one, actually.”

Mike didn’t tell William he was wrong either.

“You should know, Stonewell would’ve preferred that stain on our landscape was torn down.

Hanbury, that is. We’d agreed on plans before you came along.

A lot of us see that as time wasted. So, I’ll ask you nicely to put it on the market.

Sell up to some big tycoon who wants to build flats or something. ”

“Flats… that far out of town?” William barked, slamming the glass on the bar, liquid spilling over his knuckles.

“Don’t mock me, boy,” Mike warned. “It’s not becoming of our new neighbour.”

There was so much William could’ve said in response, including a sting of obscene language. “Respectfully, Mike, let me spell this out for you. Hanbury Manor isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Hmm. I was always under the impression that small-minded people like you would’ve hated the idea of some developer coming to tear it down only to replace it with ugly flats.”

“That would’ve been better,” Mike sneered. “Better than you living in it, I mean.”

Usually, William might have swallowed his annoyance and moved on. But knowing the entire pub listened in irked him. He was ready to pop, and William was at his limit after the night he’d had.

“People like you just love an excuse to moan. Perhaps, if you had something to occupy your life with, you would have less time to worry about what other people did.” William leaned in close, unable to stop his lip curling over his teeth.

“I recommend picking up a book, or knitting – I hear that’s a popular hobby for people of your age.

Or puzzles, like you said, you’re pretty good at those. ”

Mike stumbled over his reply. He was grumbling beneath his hot beer breath, just low enough that William couldn’t make sense of it.

“Now, if you’re done.” William raised his glass and tapped it into the one Mike clutched in his meaty palm.

“It’s been incredibly insightful chatting with you, really.

I’m sure we will be seeing one another around often.

If not, you will all know where to find me.

It’s that big house down that road that occupies your thoughts so much. ”

William spied a seat in the far corner of the pub. He fixed his gaze on it as he moved away.

Mike snapped around, bar stool creaking beneath him. “That’s if you aren’t chased out beforehand. Just like the rest of them .”

“Excuse me?” William peered back, only to see Mike holding his glass afloat.

“I’m trying to do you a favour, but clearly you are as stuck up as all them city folk are you don’t recognise a little friendly advice.”

“Friendly certainly is a word, not one I’d use in conjunction with this conversation,” William replied, scanning the entire pub and the crowd who watched on. “You know, I really appreciate such a warm welcome from you all. I really cannot wait to visit more.”

“You’ll see for yourself then, boy ,” Mike said with a smile, flashing just as many gaps as teeth in his mouth. “But it’ll be too late, and the curse of that place will chase you out soon enough. We’ve all heard the stories. Ghosts and–”

“Oh, not you too. Give it a rest!” William shouted, unable to contain himself. At this point he’d prefer to throw his glass then drink what was inside of it. “There’s no such thing as bloody ghosts.”

Mike paced across the room, stopped before William’s table and leaned over him. “Are you sure?”

“I think that’s more than enough,” the barman called out. “Anymore and you’ll have to leave my establishment, Mr Thorn.”

The barman didn’t threaten for Mike to leave, only William. It was unfair, but then again, William was used to life dealing him such rotten lemons.

“Leave the pub, leave Hanbury,” Mike added, his hulking form still shrouding the space William had chosen to sit at. “All of it. You decide.”

Buzzing with adrenaline, William leaned in, enjoying the face of real danger and the threat it posed. “Or what?”

Mike reeled back, brow furrowing so hard the lines across his forehead were deep enough to camp inside. “That bastard manor should’ve been demolished straight after that Thomas boy killed himself in it–”

William blanched, feeling the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean he killed himself in it?”

Mike’s grin cut from ear to ear, flashing yellowed teeth beneath cracked lips. “I told you, Hanbury’s where you go to bury secrets. If you don’t find them, they’ll come for you before you have a chance to run.”

Then, with that, Mike rocked back, shrugged his shoulders as if lessening a weight that had been on them, then left William to simmer in the revelation he’d just dropped like a bomb.

Killed himself – that Thomas boy – Hanbury manor.

Edward had said Robert Thomas died, but not once did William imagine it was because he’d killed himself. And more than that, he’d done it inside the manor. The manor William was adamant to call home just to piss off these small-minded people.

He sat there, dumbfounded, cold to the core. He looked down at his Guinness as a wave of nausea gripped his gut. He had never turned his nose up at a drink, but he couldn’t fathom putting anything past his lips.

Surely Mike had lied? Just another person, like Edward, trying to scare William into leaving Hanbury for good.

Wasn’t it a rule that the solicitor would’ve had to inform William of these sorts of things?

But then, why would they know? William knew that the answer was only given if he’d asked, and that’s if they even knew about it.

Hell, William didn’t even know Hanbury existed until after Archie died. It seemed like keeping secrets was a polished skill for him, something passed down his family line.