Page 59 of The Haunting of William Thorn

William pressed the button over and over, following the beep sound until he found what he was looking for.

Beyond the crumbling gatehouse, behind an overgrown forest of wildlife, was a narrow dirt path.

It was an easily overlooked place, considering the bushes had claimed the view, concealing the entrance.

Branches from trees reached over to one another like two lovers trying to knot limbs together.

Pushing them back, William navigated inside, peeling back layer after layer of foliage, careful not to nick his bare skin on brambles at his sides.

And there it was, the impossible made possible. A car.

It was parked within the shadows of the woodland, covered in bird droppings, fallen leaves and a strange green film.

William had come up with reasons why Edward hid the car from him.

Perhaps he just wanted an excuse to stay at Hanbury.

But deep down, after hearing Edward’s story and the connection to Archie, he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly why he wanted William not to see the car.

It was as if a bolt had hit his stomach, driving the wind out of his lungs. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Bile burned up his throat, but his stomach was so empty he didn’t have anything to expel from it.

He’d seen this very car before. The last time had been from his window back in London as he watched it swerve into Archie, knocking him off his bike and killing him on impact.

Of course, since Archie’s death, William had come across many of the same model and make, and every time he settled eyes on one, he wanted to throw-up, scream, and cry – all at the same time.

But those were just lookalikes. This was the car that killed Archie. And it was no wonder Edward hid it from him, whether to protect him from the truth or just keep it from him for longer.

It would’ve been easier to drop to the floor and give up in the face of this realisation, but William wouldn’t do that.

He couldn’t. Because if Edward’s car was still here, he didn’t know who’d driven away from Hanbury.

The car hadn’t looked like a taxi, but then again, William didn’t get a good enough look.

Righting himself, doing everything in his power to stifle the grief and bury it for another time, William pressed on.

In the cool shadows of the gatehouse’s exterior wall, he rounded the car.

As if to prove himself right, he pressed the key again to unlock it.

The head and brake lights flashed, followed by another beep, the noise grating enough to disturb birds from their perches in trees above.

Something else moved amongst the trees, weaving and dipping, unseen but there. William caught distinct movement out from the corner of his eye. By the time he looked up, half expecting Edward to reveal himself with all the answers, it was to find someone else.

A young man with greyed skin, and features unnaturally blurred, stared back at him. More movement, just to his left. Another man stepped out – no, it was like the wind caught a cloud and it blew into a physical, solid form.

Both figures were odd. From their clothes to their colouring. It was like the world had leeched them of life, leaving behind mere scraps of what they’d once been.

“I see you,” William said, heart thundering in his chest.

There was a knowing, deep down, that these men had nothing to do with the car he’d watched drive away. In fact, from the bruised patches across obviously rotten skin, it was clear that these men had never driven a car.

Because they were dead.

In tandem, the figures looked to one another, and then back to William.

As their gazes settled on him again, William realised something.

Their features were not blurred. They were missing.

Empty, eyeless holes froze him to the very place he stood.

Something wet and fat wriggled within the gaping wound, slithering amongst skull and flesh.

“Oh, my God,” William gasped, backing into the car, the solid and real form of it giving him a sense of comfort.

Silence replied.

“What… what do you want?” He braved.

So, Archie wasn’t the only spirit to haunt Hanbury. Had these young men been here the entire time, watching on from Hanbury’s grounds, lurking in the corner of gazes and dwelling in shadows?

One of the spirits lifted a hand, pointed it in the direction towards the car but not quite on it, and then lifted his bent, bone-exposed finger, back to his mouth.

A gush of wind rushed, emanating the sound of the figure shushing William.

And then, like seeds from a dandelion, they blew away, breaking down to nothingness.

William clamped his eyes closed as the strange mist reached him.

Old musk danced across his senses, stuffing his nose with a smell he never thought he could get rid of.

As soon as they’d arrived, they left him.

With every muscle in William’s body, he knew he had to leave Hanbury. And luckily, he was holding keys to a car that still propped him up.

“I’m going,” he mumbled to himself, wondering who else was listening in. “I’m going, and I’m never coming back.”

His fingers fumbled with the keys, as he navigated around to the front of the car.

William soon discovered out that unlocking the car wasn’t required.

The driver’s side window was smashed. Glass littered the muddied ground beside it.

Some of the windows remained like the jagged teeth of a beast, ready to snap the arm off of anyone stupid enough to reach inside its maw.

Keeping a cautious distance, he peeked inside the broken window and saw nothing to note. He put the car keys on the front seat, knowing it was better to leave them there instead of dropping them, and losing them in the undergrowth.

Edward filled his mind again. What had driven him to smash the car window?

William scanned scene around him as he pulled back out of the car, searching for clues. A stream of wet, vivid red caught his attention. It dribbled down the driver’s door. Looking closer, running a finger through the trial, William knew what it was.

Blood.

Now he’d seen it, he noticed more. He knelt, following the river of partially dried gore, until he came to a stop beneath the car.

He saw something hidden in the shadows just beneath it.

Reaching under the car, his fingers wrapped around something large, heavy yet soft.

Withdrawing it into the dull light, he saw what it was.

A fist-sized rock had been wrapped in brown-stained bandages. There were a few noticeable spots of fresher gore, rose-red compared to the brown stains of old blood. William knew exactly where these bandages had been before – wrapped around Edward’s ruined hands.

The realisation sunk deep, burying to the hilt.

Instead of physical pain, William was smacked with guilt – more of it.

Clutching the rock to his chest, he knew this was his doing.

Old lessons die hard. He’d kicked Archie out of his house, and he’d faced a terrible fate.

Maybe Hanbury was not trying to get rid of them, but consume them just like it did for poor Robert.

William had done the same thing to Edward as he did to Archie. His actions had forced Edward to break into his car and likely hurt himself in the process. Was the blood thanks to a severed vein, the spluttering of a torn radial artery?

If so, where was he?

The shaded woods creaked and groaned, wind rustling through the undergrowth. William expected the two men to show themselves again, but they kept away. He had the impression they were still close though, watching on, judging how close William was to joining them.

He looked up, unsure where to start looking for Edward. Regardless of the secrets and the lies, he couldn’t be responsible for another person’s demise. It would kill him this time – without the need for pills and alcohol.

Something like the crack of a branch sounded at William’s side. As if a foot stood on the fragile old bones of a tree, breaking it beneath a person’s weight.

“Edward?” William called out, narrowing his eyes, trying to discern the shapes of the trees. “Edward, is that you?”

Please let it be you. Please not those men with empty eyes and the stench of age and death on their bloated flesh.

Deciding to carry the rock as a weapon more than anything, William got up. The back of his neck prickled as if unseen eyes were on him. And he knew, without question, that he wasn’t alone.

Turning in circles, he searched for the intruder. He spun so quickly the world tilted, taking a moment to settle. And the feeling of being watched only intensified.

“I know you are here,” William said, his voice shaking, giving away his fear. “Tell me what you want. Get this over with!”

He stepped from the car towards the bonnet. A distinct movement off centre from his vision caught his full attention. The skin across the side of his face prickling with the sensation of being watched.

William was about to turn back to Hanbury when he saw it. As his eyes settled on a strange shape just shy of the car, the sensation of being watched dissipated like smoke on the wind.

The same place those men had pointed with dirty nails and bony fingers.

A brick formation rose out of the ground in a clearing. It was circular, lidded by a sheet of rusted metal. The closer he got, the more he knew exactly what he was looking at.

It was a well – the one Robert had written about in his journal.

Roots from the surrounding trees rose from the earth like serpents frozen in time.

Some broke through the well’s surrounding wall – the bricks aged over time, wrapped by ivy and knotted with weeds.

It was as if the earth itself was trying to pry the strange-lidded contraption from the well, but the lock prevented it.

But that wasn’t all that William noticed being out of place. Etched into the top of the metal lid was a symbol– the same markings worn into every doorframe inside of Hanbury Manor.

William hadn’t been able to work out what the symbols in the house were. To him, they just looked like warped markings of the number eight. But seeing it on the well, larger and more detailed, he knew what it was.

A snake coiled on itself, its own fangs sinking into the flesh of its tail.

An Ouroboros. A symbol that William knew from his own research during one of the novels he’d written. And the very same symbol etched into the doorframes in Hanbury. Except it was clear here, larger and easier to make out exactly what it was. Not a figure of eight, but a snake eating its own tail.

Destruction and creation. Death and rebirth.

William lowered his fingers to the markings, feeling the grooves in the metal. Tracing the symbol with his index finger.

The wind sang once again, the whisper of secrets caught upon its stream.

William didn’t need to look up to know the two men had returned, but he did anyway.

They stood on the other side of the well, gazing down with sorrow oozing from their eyeless face.

Although their mouths didn’t move, William heard the sobbing.

The sound clashed in his head, loud and demanding.

Like stones grating over stones, it was the noise with enough power to truly drive him mad.

“You… you’re the missing boys…” William managed to force out, and the noise stopped. “The ones who went into Hanbury, and never returned?”

They didn’t reply, but their silence seemed answer enough.

“What do you want me to find here?” William tried again. “This well?”

Still, they didn’t answer. Not because they were ignoring him. It was worse. One of the phantoms opened their mouth wide, lips cracking, skin splitting like the seams of old clothes, and revealed a bloodied stump between their jaw.

Whatever had happened to them, whatever horror they’d experienced, was right before William.

Their tongues were missing. A gargled, wet sound broke free of their chests. It was all desperation and pleading. William wanted to clap his hands over his ears to stifle it. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

A distant bang sounded at his back. Blood drained from his body, and he spun around, his eyes settling in the direction of the noise. He expected another spirit to have joined this strange party, but no one was there.

Only the gatehouse. The noise had come from inside it – as if someone was there, beckoning him.

“Edward!” William exhaled, the two spirits no longer on his mind.

In response, the thumping sound came again. An answer to a call.

William waded back through the overgrown weeds towards the stone building. His mind told a story about what must’ve happened after Edward tried breaking into his car. Maybe he had seen the spirits as well, got spooked and hid from them.

He had to be inside. William practically knew it as a fact as he ran around the building. The windows were dirtied from time; the glass weathered so poorly that he couldn’t see inside, even if he wanted to.

William didn’t bother to knock before opening the front door – it was his property, after all.

The gatehouse was shrouded in shadows, the only light coming from the beams that made it through the dirtied windows. William cast his eyes around the overturned furniture and the leaf-strewn ground until his eyes settled on the body on the floor.

Laid out on his stomach, the back of his head matted with blood, his once-white T-shirt now splattered brown, was Edward.