Page 40 of The Haunting of William Thorn

Reader, today has been a monumentally terrible day.

Teddy turned twenty-eight with the turn of dawn, and I had plans to visit him this evening with his gift. I fear that even my painting will not make amends to what trouble I brought to him. My actions led to a blowout with my parents, one that I worry will change everything.

You must be thinking how careless I have been in my need to see Teddy.

But I took all the necessary measures to ensure no problem arose.

I had waited until evening before I gathered the painting of Teddy, snuck down the stairs and left Hanbury for the gatehouse.

Admittedly, I have been a bundle of nerves for the entire day.

But I was also determined . Determined to see Teddy on his birthday, to share this special night with him and make memories in the limited time we have together.

Father was supposed to be in London. He had left early this morning, the rumble of his new car practically waking all of the Cotswolds – it really is a ghastly thing. As blue as a beetle’s shell, curved metal with imposing wheels and a horn that goes straight through someone.

I asked Mother how long Father would be expected to be away for, and she simply shrugged. So I waited at my window, watching the driveway, expecting to hear the roar of Father’s engine to signal his return. He had not arrived by nightfall, so I took my chance and left swiftly for the gatehouse.

Granted, the first hours of our entanglement were incredible.

Teddy was overjoyed with my gift, although he seemed more excited about another present.

Me. He took my clothes off, undressing me like he would a package of brown paper and twine.

Then he devoured me, with his portrait propped up against the wall, the lit hearth casting an orange glow across his painted features.

Once we were done – and by we , I do mean he because I could have continued until a thousand dawns had risen – I rested my head on his chest, adoring the way his coarse hairs tickled the soft skin of my cheek.

Teddy then gave me the gift of words. He told me he loved me.

In the months we spent together, it was the first time he had voiced the words to me – three little words that struck like lightning.

They pierced my soul, feeding it and encouraging it to bud like the roses he tends to in the gardens.

And I swear I felt so light that if his arms were not wrapped around me, I would have floated to the heavens.

Such an odd feeling, considering Mother’s bible tells her that people with my affliction would never grace the gates of heaven.

I love you .

Whereas I had felt as though Teddy had just gifted me the keys to heaven’s gate, and with them I was free to enter as I wish.

I long for the power to convey the emotion he spoke it with. To share how his voice broke like waves against a shore, churning up the sand of my soul and moulding me into something new.

There was, and will never be, anything like it.

It will be my life’s biggest regret that I never managed to reply. I barely got a breath in before the telltale groan of a car’s engine sounded, followed by the crunch of gravel.

Father had returned. I was naked, barely covered by sheets, most of my modesty only protected by the drape of Teddy’s lean body.

Truthfully, I do not remember much of what followed.

It was a lot of rushing, fast limbs and breathless lungs as I dressed.

It was a rational fear. Teddy leaned up and blew the candle upon his window frame out.

He drew curtains, hoping to mock the concept of rest within the gatehouse when what had occurred was far from that.

I contemplated running for Hanbury, but there was no beating Father’s automobile. It would chase me like the Minotaur in Greek mythology, winding up our driveway, yellowed beam headlights revealing where I had been.

So, we waited.

Teddy told me it would be fine. He said Father would be tired after the long drive. Not that he knew. Teddy had never touched a car before. But once Hanbury and everyone in it slept, I would squirrel through the dark, return to my room and pretend like nothing had happened.

In the moment, Teddy found it hysterical.

Did you not, Ted? I know you’ll be reading this.

I seem silly not addressing you straight away, but you must understand that my relationship with the empty crowd who reads my journal entries is far less daunting of a concept than the flesh and blood of the man I love.

Yes, I love you too. I could not say it, but that does not change the truth of the matter. I do. Love you, that is. I know they say that words are powerful when spoken, but words are simply words, whether written or not. So, believe me when you read this, I love you, I love you.

And I am sorry.

Sorry for what happened next.

I do not know how Father knew where I was, but I can only guess.

I imagine his trip to London to speak with the heads of government only dislodged his sanity a little further.

He would have returned home, checked on Mother, then peeked his head into my room to check on me.

If that were the case, he would have found my bed empty.

We listened to him arriving at Teddy’s gatehouse. Heavy footsteps, my name shouted at the top of his lungs. And all we could do was wait. Wait for the arrival of the storm that was to come.

Father did not knock upon Teddy’s door. He kicked it in, snapping the fragile bolt.

In rushed the uncaring winds of outside, alongside my father.

I will never forget the way his eyes roamed over the gatehouse.

How did he even know I was here? I suppose they knew something was happening between us and how close we had become since the summer.

But finding me here, barely dressed but incredibly dishevelled, Teddy, hovering before me like a shield, his nightshirt hardly buttoned to the collar.

Father’s furious stare moved from me to Teddy and rested upon the painting.

Reader, I am sorry, but I cannot go into detail about what happened next.

There was shouting, mostly from Father, some from Teddy.

My shoulder aches even now from where Father dug his fingers into my skin, half dragging me, half pushing me out of the gatehouse.

I scrambled back for the door, but I was too late.

It slammed shut, closing Father and Teddy inside.

Time truly lost all meaning in the following minutes.

When Father finally left, he did so with one fist balled, knuckles dripping blood.

In his other hand, he carried the painting – the gift I had worked tirelessly on for weeks just for Teddy.

I tried to glimpse Teddy inside, but I could not see him.

But, reader, I heard him. The rasped breathing, the subtle sob of a grown man in pain.

I hissed and spat at my father, clawing at his unrelenting chest as he paced past me and back towards Hanbury.

He did not stop. He did not even look at me.

All he did was command me to follow for my own good.

Deep down my father must have known that threat wasn’t enough because he added something else.

For Teddy’s good. If he wanted Teddy to be safe, I had to obey.

Father took my greatest weakness and used it against me.

As I write this, morning has arrived. I have not slept. Instead, I have watched the gatehouse for signs of life. Teddy, you never relit the candle in your window. The door did not open. The curtains did not shift.

Are you well, my love?

I barely think about the painting I worked on. I do not even care where my father has put it. I care only for the real thing. I care only for you .

Do you remember what you whispered to me before our life was turned upside down? Do you remember the life you promised me, the one of us together, away from anything and everyone? Because if you do, please, I crave it.

After breakfast, I will go to our place and leave my journal there for you to take. No doubt, Father will be watching me like a hawk, but there is one place he will never expect us to defile.

I find it almost poetic that father would take your portrait away, only for me to use another against him.

Teddy, my love. I hope you have found this, and I hope you are reading my words. And more than that, I hope you, too, will leave your journal for me, so I know you do not hate me. Whatever father did to you, whatever he said, it means nothing compared to what I am willing to do for you.

I love you, Teddy Jones.

I am sorry, Teddy Jones.

I will prove both to you in time

I suppose that is why I must be punished, for these sinful thoughts.