Page 25 of The Haunting of William Thorn

William stood before the non-descript door to the attic, fingering through the twenty-or-so keys hanging from a chain.

He’d been given the bundle before he’d left London, collected from the solicitor who – in hindsight – seemed almost too excited to hand them over.

He wasn’t sure which key fit into the lock for the attic, and he’d not even begun to try them.

Instead, he’d just stood there for about ten minutes, staring at the door.

Maybe he should’ve waited for Edward to return.

But that desire was stupid. This was William’s house.

His name was on the deeds, so he refused to be scared of closed doors or the secrets behind them.

Regardless of the dark untold story which clung to Hanbury manor, it wouldn’t send him running.

This was his life – one that Archie would’ve wanted for him.

He wasn’t going to allow the past to dictate his future anymore.

Hanbury Manor was mostly still. Every now and then, the walls would creak, old pipes clanging a tune, before settling back to silence. It was becoming the soundtrack to William’s new life, not signs of the otherworld, as Mike and everyone else had suggested.

“We’re only afraid of what we don’t understand,” William said to himself as he chose what key to start with.

It was an old brass one, the metal cold and coated in rust. As he lowered it towards the lock, he knew it was too big, so he moved on to the next.

On and on he checked for the right key, his worries becoming frustration with every one he tried.

Not a single key fitted in the door. Not one. He ended up trying them all about three times before completely giving up.

William was just about to give up too when he heard an out-of-place rustling.

At first, he put it down to Edward returning with his belongings from the gatehouse.

Until the noise came again, louder that time.

William snapped his head up, looking at the closed door. The sound came from inside the room.

“Impossible,” he exhaled with a forced laugh, trying to negate the creeping dread that returned. “Just rats. Big, juicy rats.”

As if in answer, the noise came again. The screech of wood. A creak. His mind conjured an image of a chair being dragged across the floor. No rat was big enough to do that, no spider capable.

William couldn’t move a muscle. For a moment, he was frozen to the spot. The icy scratch of fear scoured down his spine. He even held his breath to make sure he wasn’t the one making the noise.

Nothing happened. He almost laughed but had the overwhelming urge to keep quiet. He knew it was ridiculous, but William crept closer to the door, turned his head and laid his ear on the rough wood.

He closed his eyes, eliminating one of his senses to heighten another. And then he listened.

Silence hummed against the side of his face.

The only thing he could hear was the thumping beat of his heart as it echoed back to him.

William was just about to scold himself for thinking he’d heard something.

The noise started again. But this time, it was different.

Not the screech of wood. No . It was the soft whimpering of a person.

Horror unspooled like thread inside of him, knotting and tangling into a bundle of uncontrolled emotion.

His initial reaction was to gasp in shock.

He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.

Whatever was beyond the door heard him. The whimpering stopped, as though a hand was clasped across their mouth too, stifling the sound.

That’s when the footsteps began.

Careful, poised footsteps, growing louder as whatever was beyond the door walked towards it. The same noise that William had heard on his first night.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

William pushed himself off of the door, suddenly glad there was no key to unlock it.

There was no time for rational thought. He backed away, refusing to take his eyes from the door, all whilst the footsteps grew louder and louder and louder–

It stopped just as suddenly as the crying had.

Just when William thought it was over, a horrid, bone-quaking slamming began.

The unseen force smashed itself into the other side of door, shaking it in the frame.

Dust rained down from the ceiling, coating the scene in a faint shimmering of snow.

William erupted in a scream that rivalled the sound before him.

Whatever was with him seemed fuelled by his fear.

The more William shook and screamed, the harder the banging became.

Louder. So terrible that the entire wall shook, wood splitting before William’s eyes.

“Ed – Edward!” William shouted as he threw himself down the stairs, two at a time.

The noise from the attic stopped as soon as the name came out of his mouth. But he didn’t stop running. William leapt downstairs, landing on the second-floor landing before spinning back around. As he did, looking up to the attic floor, he saw it.

A figure of shadow looked over the banister. William missed his footing on the step, burning fire erupting across his twisted ankle. Then the shadow-figure, the manor, all blurred as he began to fall.

William’s initial reaction was to clutch his head with his arms, protecting him from the fall. Pain ruptured his side, his back and legs. He held his breath, waiting for it to end. It seemed to go on forever until the side of his body cracked into the wall, stopping his descent.

Hands clasped his shoulders, firm and real. And yet William still couldn’t open his eyes. He wouldn’t. It took a moment for the ringing in his ears to calm enough to notice that someone was calling his name.

“Will, I’m here.”

For the briefest of moments, William could’ve tricked himself into believing that it was Archie who spoke to him.

Only Archie ever called him Will, not that it was a ground-breaking nickname, but still, it had been something special between them.

But when the adrenaline settled, allowing room for the pain to rear its ugly head, William cracked open a single eye and found Edward kneeling before him.

Wide hazel eyes set with worry, mouth pursed white with tension. A single brown curl of his hair had fallen over his creased forehead. No matter how much of a stranger Edward still was, William found himself clawing at his chest, doing everything in his power to eliminate the space between them.

William opened his mouth to speak but a rasped exhale was the only noise he could make.

“This is becoming a habit of ours, isn’t it?” Edward said, his voice reverberating against the side of William’s face.

William shivered against the very real, very warm hand that brushed the back of his head. Everything about the contact offered him comfort, even if his ankle screeched in blinding-hot agony. “I think I’ve broken something. Argh.”

“That was one award winning fall. What happened?”

William swallowed hard, catching the bile which crept up the back of his throat.

How could he possibly explain what he’d just experienced?

The crying, the banging, the figure. The last time it had happened he’d been half asleep.

But William had never been more awake. Alert.

He knew what he’d seen and couldn’t deny it.

Not anymore.

“Someone… is up… there.”

Edward didn’t hear him, perhaps from the horror coating each word, or the muffled words as William spoke them into Edward’s embrace.

“Say that again… slowly this time.”

So, William did. He took a deep inhale, filling his lungs whilst simultaneously being glad he hadn’t punctured his lungs with a broken rib or something.

Without removing his face from Edward’s chest, refusing to open his eyes or acknowledge his twisted ankle.

Nothing mattered to him except getting the truth of his experience out on the table for even the watching shadows to acknowledge.

And most certainly, the shadows were watching, listening.

“I wanted to unlock the attic. This is my house, and I wasn’t going to be scared of something so… childish.”

“You should’ve waited for me–”

“My home, Edward. Not anyone else’s. Just mine .”

His full lips set into a harsh line. “Got it. How did you go from opening a door, to falling down a set of stairs then?”

“I heard movement. Like a screeching of something heavy being dragged. I thought you’d come back in the manor, but it was coming from inside the attic, Edward.

Inside. Then… there was crying. A soft cry like someone was trying everything in their power to do it quietly.

Like they didn’t want to be heard. But I did.

I interrupted them–” Even saying it aloud made William bristle with discomfort because it acknowledged that what he’d heard was real.

“Keep going,” Edward encouraged, not once stopping the soothing circles his hand made on William’s back. “I’m listening, and I’m not judging you either.”

That was exactly what William needed to hear to continue.

“It was like they… or whatever it was, were trying to break down the door, so I ran. I was going down the stairs when I saw something on the attic landing, looking down at me. I mean, I felt it. That’s when I fell.

” William drew back enough to peer up at Edward through long lashes soaked with tears.

“I won’t blame you if you think I’m crazy. ”

William’s tears became frantic laughter, all while Edward looked down at him, studying every nuance of conflicting emotion.

I am not mad. I am not mad.

Edward took a moment to reply, gaze flickering across William’s face, drinking him all in.

“The way I think about you is the furthest thing from crazy, William Thorn. In fact, I believe you,” Edward said finally, and a weight that William didn’t even know was on his shoulders lifted. “I believe you saw something that frightened you.”

“You do?”