Page 44 of The Haunting of William Thorn

William did everything in his power to not seem impatient. But as he waited for Edward to lift his eyes from the journal he read, it was becoming harder not to demand information.

The silence was deafening. There was only the ruffled song of turned pages, Edward’s light breathing and the occasional humph noise he made almost drove William to the edge of insanity.

To distract himself, he clutched his now cold mug of coffee.

He’d yet to take a sip and the thought of it only made him feel sick.

So, he leaned back in the old chair, and turned his face to the sun’s gaze, and waited.

For autumn, there were days when the world seemed to forget the time of year and surprise its tenants with warmth such as this.

It was almost sweltering today, making William’s skin sticky beneath his oversized hoodie.

William needed a distraction from his distraction.

He withdrew his phone from his pocket, catching the time as almost eleven a.m. There weren’t any notifications – no emails or missed calls. It could’ve been a curse from the spotty signal at the manor, or maybe the world beyond it really had forgotten about him.

Wasn’t that what he wanted anyway? To be forgotten, to be left in a place where no one would stop him making decisions he so desperately wanted?

William wasn’t so sure anymore. How many days had it been since he called his solicitor?

He almost felt embarrassed to think that he’d been so angry.

If only he had the answers he did now. Of course, it crossed his mind numerous times to call the police.

That’s what normal people did when it came to things like this, right?

But then again, he knew the drama that would follow.

The disbelief, the questions. It was best to flesh out Robert and Teddy’s story before they went involving anyone.

But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to keep the happenings to himself.

William could imagine what the police would think if he rang and told them about ghosts. One look at his record and he’d be hand-delivered back to the Facility in a pretty box with a red ribbon.

It was best he kept it to himself, or that was what he’d convinced himself, at least.

After what felt like a year of silence from Edward, he finally cleared his throat. Then the journal thumped on the table between them. The sound made William jump, so much so that he spilled some of his coffee over his lap.

“Jesus wept,” William cursed, eyes snapping towards a disgruntled Edward. “Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?”

“No, and He isn’t going to help you either,” Edward replied, monotone, his brilliantly brown eyes locked on an oak tree set in the garden’s southern end. “Actually, I don’t think anything is going to help at this point!”

“So, from your glowing optimism, I guess the journal hasn’t revealed any useful information?

” William set his untouched mug of frigid coffee down.

He brushed a small splash from his leg, conscious he hadn’t had a single sip in all the time they’d been outside.

“Or maybe it has, and they’re not the answers you wanted to find? ”

Edward screwed up his nose, an endearing expression that reminded William of a mouse. A handsome mouse if such a thing were possible. “Neither, and both? It makes me feel all weird reading Teddy’s journal. Like I’m prying into something I shouldn’t be.”

Yet another example of how different William and Edward were. William couldn’t wait to get answers, to dive into another person’s story and drink up their drama to outweigh his own. In fact, all the time Edward was reading, William wanted to snatch the book from him and see what was so enthralling.

“I know what you mean,” William lied. “But this is what you came for. Did you find anything important?”

William found himself holding his breath, waiting for a reply.

Edward shook his head, lowered his chin to his chest and exhaled a long, tempered breath. “Nothing we don’t already know. It’s a lot of the same, and not much at that. It doesn’t seem like Edward had the journal for long before… well, before whatever happened to him.”

William reached out, unable to stop himself, and brushed his fingers over the book.

Drawing it close, he was aware just how warm the cover was, courtesy of Edward’s hands.

A shiver raced over him, as did the jealousy – which was a surprising feeling.

It took William a moment to realise what he was jealous of.

It turned out it was the concept of Edward imprinting his warmth on something other than him.

Before he lost himself to such an overwhelming, and frankly, unwanted feeling, he opened the journal and began to root through.

Edward was right. Only a handful of pages were full of sharp handwriting.

In contrast, most of the journal was empty, which meant that Edward was either a slow reader or he’d combed through what little was here a number of times.

“The first entry starts the day after the confrontation between Robert’s father and Teddy.

It seems the father had some choice words, but Teddy only hinted at them.

Clearly, he was trying to protect Robert by keeping what really happened from him.

However, it was enough to spark the conversation about them both leaving Hanbury,” Edward said just as William’s eyes dusted over that first entry.

What was odd about it was right at the end of the page, in Teddy’s handwriting, was a question.

If given the chance, my love, will you leave with me?

And beneath it, written in beautifully curled lettering, was a handwriting William recognised. It was Robert, writing an answer to Teddy’s proposed question by his own hand.

Yes , without thought or hesitation.

“So, Robert agreed. It was a joint decision, not just a suggestion,” William said, turning to the next entry.

Something else that was different between this journal and the one upstairs in the bedroom was these entries weren’t dated.

It made it hard to understand how much time was passing between their messages to one another.

Days, weeks… it couldn’t have been months though, William knew that.

“Not that any of it matters since we know that Robert never left Hanbury in the end.”

Because he killed himself in the attic. And not just that, his spirit still lingered on. William was almost convinced of it. Almost – because he held onto hope that ghosts were real, and his mind wasn’t just creating illusions the more it slipped into insanity.

The next entry was short – a rather detailed declaration of love. This must’ve been what Edward had felt uncomfortable reading. It was intrusive to see into the mind of another whilst sharing the most intimate details.

Teddy wrote about visiting Stonewell and posting a letter to his sister – the letter that Edward knew about, which asked to arrange the arrival of both men as they escaped for a new life.

But that new life was outlined in this entry, talking about living by the coast, growing their vegetables and living off the land.

A place where Robert could paint the walls of their house without limitations, and Teddy would plant a forest of roses so if they looked out their window, they’d see nothing but flowers for miles.

These wishes, written down with ink on parchment, were not different from the types of conversations modern-day couples would have. They were the 1930s equivalent of “what’s your five-year plan?”.

“They really loved each other,” William said, eyes stinging suddenly, enough to force him to take a break. “All these plans, dreams… never…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence thanks to the sudden clogged lump in his throat.

“Love without bounds or limitations,” Edward replied, slowly shifting his gaze from that oak tree to William.

“Enough that they’d happily leave everything they had behind.

My family didn’t have much money or status back then, but Robert’s had.

And he was willing to leave it all for a simple life with the only person that mattered to him.

Sometimes riches is more than money or material things.

Robert clearly felt like the wealthiest man alive when it came to my great-uncle. ”

“He did,” William replied. “There’s nobody more fulfilled than a person in love.”

Edward recoiled slightly, the words piercing him deeply. “It would seem that way.”

They held each other’s stare momentarily, two souls cracking as one, bound together by a story. Edward didn’t know the details of William’s past, and nor did William pry into Edwards. But there was certainly something about the lack of knowledge that made them closer.

Edward broke their staring contest first, to William’s disappointment.

“The last entry mentions a plan they had,” Edward said, “however, I wonder if Robert ever read it since the journal was still in the portrait frame.”

William looked back down, flicking the journal to the page in question. Unlike the other entries, this was shorter. It was more of a list of directions. Teddy wrote of a plan, his handwriting far sharper and rushed than the rest of the entries.

“They were going to steal away in Robert’s father’s car.” William re-read the line over and over. “See there… it mentions Teddy had already stole the keys.”

“He did.”

But that wasn’t it. There was something else.

“Oh, my God ,” William said, sitting up and leaning into the journal as though he could literally fall into the pages.

“He isn’t going to help either,” Edward complained.

William turned the journal around, so the pages faced Edward. With a nail, he pointed at a line. “Did you read this part?”

“I read it all, Will. About three times to be exact.”

William shook his head, trying to understand what he’d just read. “So you decided to just skip the bit where they planned to kill Robert’s parents?”