Page 39 of The Haunting of William Thorn

William had washed his hands over five times, scrubbing the skin raw, the water almost unbearable against sensitive skin. But the pain didn’t register since he’d drunk almost the same number of glasses of wine – downing one bottle whilst Edward drank from another.

“Do you think… surely they didn’t lock him in there,” William said, as if saying it out loud would convince his deepest horrors that they were wrong.

“I hate to say it, but I think so,” Edward replied, eyes fixed on Robert’s journal, which rested on the kitchen table. “And I think our only way of finding out is in there.”

William took a seat opposite, the space between them stretching apart like an otherworldly yawn.

Since leaving the attic, he wanted nothing more than to stand beneath a hot shower and scold himself clean.

Even the concept of eating dinner turned the saliva in his mouth sour.

“Maybe after another couple of glasses, then I’ll be brave enough to read it. ”

“I don’t want to make tonight any worse for you, but there’s no more wine left after this.

” Edward lifted his bottle in cheers, the dull light above shining through enough to see only a quarter of the liquid left.

Sediment floated like ashes at the bottom, making William’s urge to vomit more pronounced.

He swore that if Edward were one of those people who enjoyed chewing wine’s sediment, it would be enough to lessen how attractive he was becoming to him.

It was a wasted hope because as Edward ran a hand through his sweeping brown hair, casting it back from his face, William couldn’t help but marvel at the man. He was proving to be a great distraction from everything that was happening around him.

“Good,” William chimed, shaking himself from losing his focus to Edward. “An excuse to get out tomorrow is exactly what I need.”

“I’m not going to argue with that.”

William took a hearty sip from his glass, swirling the rich red around his cheeks to rid himself of the tang of dust and grime from the attic. Little by little, it was helping. Or perhaps he was just getting drunk. “Should we, I don’t know, ring the police or something?”

“And tell them what?” Edward asked, almost laughing at William’s notion. “That the previous owners of this house potentially locked their son in the attic because he was in love with a man?”

“Not to mention he was locked in the room he eventually killed himself in.”

“We still don’t know if that was the reason. Or if both events are linked.”

“Oh, come on, Edward. What else would it be?” William felt his hackles rise. “This is all too much.”

Edward’s eyes widened, realisation settling in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring this to you. It’s just…”

“You didn’t do anything. I came here, the house is in my name.”

“I know. To be honest, I don’t even know what’s going on anymore. Everything is blending into one.” Edward sparked to life, taking something William said and running with it. “We need to map out everything we’ve learned so far and put it in some sort of order.”

“Take the lead,” William said, quite happy to lean back in his chair, drinking his wine. “Paper and pen?”

“On it.”

William returned to the Edward once he found both items. When Edward took them from him eagerly, their hands brushed briefly in a moment of pure electricity.

If Edward noticed the feeling, he didn’t say. Instead, he began mapping out everything they’d learned.

“Robert Thomas killed himself in the attic because he believed that the man he loved, Teddy Jones, died in service to his country during World War Two. What we know is that Teddy never made it to the war and that the telegram used to confirm his death was forged. This was weeks after Teddy had arranged with his sister, my great aunt, to collect him and Robert from the station. What we can take from that was that both men were trying to leave Hanbury together, to escape. But something happened between the creation of that plan. They were separated – by what, we can only speculate. At some point, Robert was locked in the attic. We don’t know how long for, but it was long enough for him to… to…”

Defecate on the floor.

William reached over the table, laying a hand on Edwards’s where it had stopped moving. “You don’t need to say it.”

It was clear that Robert had relieved himself in that attic numerous times. But what wasn’t clear was at what point he’d taken his life. Was it days, weeks or months after being locked in that attic? Had Teddy’s painting been there, haunting him, keeping him company amongst the dark?

Once again, the journal called to William, but he ignored it, settling his focus on Edward instead. As both men locked eyes, the tension was so powerful and sudden that William almost forgot where he was and why.

“Let me take over,” William said, seeing how heavy this was becoming for Edward. This may have been William’s house now, his problems inherited when the contracts for the property were signed, but this was Edward’s family who was tied up in his harrowing story.

“Thank you,” Edward exhaled, retreating into silence as William continued to speak.

“We know that Robert was buried in the manor’s gardens, likely because of the way he took his life, and the historic mistreatment between religious rules and suicide.

We also know that there’s no mention of Teddy anywhere but in that journal.

It’s like one moment he was here, and the next he was gone. ”

“But people don’t just disappear,” Edward added, the whites of his eyes stained red. “Do they.”

“Some do,” William reminded. “Remember what I told you about those young men who were last reported visiting Hanbury, and then the next thing we know is they too died in service. You said that there was no mention of anyone from Stonewell dying during World War Two. Maybe their fate is tied into this somehow?”

Edward rubbed two fingers into his temple. “But why Hanbury? What gives Hanbury the power to make people just… go away. No one can just disappear like that.”

That was a lie. People disappeared all the time.

And it was on the tip of William’s tongue to prove Edward wrong because Archie met the same fate in a way.

One moment he was there, standing at the door to their apartment, begging William to change his mind.

The next, he was outside in the rain, cycling off a path into the line of a car…

“Maybe not,” William opted, saving himself the pain of reliving that afternoon. “But Teddy Jones did disappear, as did those other young men. But there is also something else that has disappeared.”

Edward looked up, knuckles paled around the wine bottle, eyes now rimmed with tears. “What?”

“Teddy’s journal, the one you said that Robert mentioned in his entries. If we can find it, we may get an insight into Teddy’s thought patterns. And if it’s dated, we can determine where he went and why.”

William waited for Edward to tell him it was a wasted effort, but the opposite came out of his mouth. “We could check the gatehouse he stayed in?”

“I would’ve thought you already had?”

Edward shook his head. “No, I didn’t exactly get much of a chance.

It’s in pretty bad shape, the roof has caved in, it’s more like a crumbling wreck then a liveable place now.

There’s no saying that even if the journal is still somewhere, it’s not completely ruined by mould and decay, but it’s worth a check. ”

“Then we’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning before we leave for Stonewell. Deal?”

Edward’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. William was confident he heard the creak of teeth against teeth. He then nodded, twice and sharp. “Deal.”

It occurred to William that he still held onto Edward’s hand.

He uncurled his fingers and drew back when his bicep began to ache from the awkward position.

He caught it out of the corner of his eye as Edward drummed each finger on the table as if flexing his hand or wanting to rid the feeling of William’s touch from his skin.

“It’s late,” William said, so matter-of-factly, that emotion didn’t even have the time to inject into his words. “We should try and retire. Put today behind us.”

Emphasis on try because William didn’t feel tired at all.

And still, in the back of his mind, was the simmering concern about sleepwalking.

That was another mystery – was it tied to the manor or conjured, because his broken mind hyper-focused on the impossibility of a haunting and tried to make it real?

It was something he knew he should talk to his therapist about, but in the same breath, he worried that it was a sign he was declining again. If that were proven, it would be back to the Crisis house.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Edward replied.

He took a final drink from the bottle, veins in his neck bulging like blue rivers beneath porcelain skin.

A dribble of red wine slipped out of the corner of his mouth, carving out a path along his jaw, down his neck and into the collar of his T-shirt.

William followed that droplet, even imagining its continuing journey long after he lost sight of it.

The squeak of a chair snapped him out of his thoughts. William looked up to find Edward standing from the table, eyes glazed as he moved towards the doorway. William quickly followed, sweeping the journal from the table without a second thought.

And he was glad he did. Because as they climbed into bed a few minutes later, the moment his head hit the pillow he knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily for him.

He wondered if Edward would wrap his body around his like he had earlier that day, but his answer came swiftly, and so did the disappointment.

Once Edward was finished barricading the bedroom door, undressed to his boxers and climbed beneath the duvet, he didn’t even offer a goodnight.

The only sound he made was a subtle groan interrupted by a hiccup.

He was drunk. William could finish a bottle and hardly feel tipsy these days, but Edward’s stamina was clearly not at the same level.

He was glad, in a way, that at least one of them could relax tonight. William knew how knotted his thoughts were, but one look into Edward’s eyes and he sensed that he too suffered a similar fate.

“Goodnight, Edward,” William braved after a while. “Sleep well.”

Edward’s steady, rasped breath responded. He was asleep so quickly that William thought Edward was pretending. He rolled over and saw how relaxed Edward’s face was – soft, mouth puckered, chest rising and falling gently.

William smiled to himself, fighting the urge to brush a finger over the loose strand of hair that hung over Edward’s eyes.

Before he did, he quickly rolled back over, lifted the heavy duvet over his head and dragged his phone and Robert’s journal beneath the manmade cave.

He flickered on his mobile’s torch and dimmed it to the lowest setting.

Opening the journal, he found his dog-eared page, scanned his eyes over the handwriting and began to read.

It turned out that all his questions were answered by the time he finished.