Page 62 of The Haunting of William Thorn

Nothing had changed since William first explored Robert’s father’s study.

The dust sheets were still torn off from the mahogany writing desk, and the few boxes of miscellaneous items were strewn across the room.

Amongst it all one thing was clear. This room was no place to hide.

There was barely enough space for one person to cower beneath the desk, let alone two.

Robert’s spectre had disappeared before they entered. There was no sign of him as they closed the door behind them, not even the whisp of a breath on the back of William’s neck.

His first instinct was to barricade the door with the desk since this was the only room without a lock.

Edward hobbled over to the wall, leaning against it to support his weight. “I need… a moment.”

It looked like he required more than that. His skin had taken on a green tinge, a likely sign of a persisting concussion from his head wound.

Edward slumped against the wall opposite the window facing out the front of the manor, falling to his haunches. He began coughing, hacking up phlegm and blood before spitting it beside a dried puddle of ink that William had spilt during his last visit here.

“If I tell myself this is just one bad hangover… I might just believe it,” Edward said, a weak smile dusting his cracked lips.

William wanted to give Edward as long as he needed to gather himself, but frankly, they didn’t have time. “I know this is hard, but we can rest when we survive this, Edward.”

Whatever this is.

William’s mind snapped between all the choices they had.

Although Hanbury was a maze of rooms, it wouldn’t take long for them to be found hiding here.

Even if they moved from room to room, the creaking floorboards would give them away.

His mind fixed on the chance of escaping out the back gardens, wrapping back around until they reached Edward’s car.

But one look down at him, and William knew that would never work.

Edward wasn’t doing well. The proof was in the pudding, where he lay slumped on the floor.

“This is useless,” Edward half-laughed, half-sobbed. The horrid noise broke with the slamming his fist against the wall. By the third punch, he stopped himself just as William moved to do it for him.

“So is hurting yourself more than you already are.”

Edward managed a final punch. His knuckles cracked into the wall, except the sound was different. His brow peaked as he turned around, and began knocking calmly against it again. “Did you hear that?”

William had. It was impossible not to. Every sound was heightened thanks to the adrenaline coursing through him. “I do. It sounds…”

“Hollow,” Edward answered, knocking more against the wall in question.

As if proving the theory, the sound was a dull thud.

“And this wallpaper,” Edward said, running bloodied fingers down it, smudging lines as he went. “It’s the same as outside. But why would they only put it on this one wall?”

He was right. The rest of the room was painted a deep red, an evocative colour that William could hardly imagine inspired focus if a person were to work there.

“Robert wrote about how his dad used to host those meetings in his study, didn’t he?” Edward asked, pushing back to standing as his hands began roaming over the wall, nails testing for something behind the jaunty wallpaper.

“Yes, why?”

“Not much room. It’s so small in here, there’s hardly enough space for three people to sit and talk, let alone a group.”

It hadn’t even occurred to William. One detail that had passed over his head at the time, but standing here, he knew Edward was right. “That still doesn’t help us figure out how to get out of here alive. We need to focus.”

Edward didn’t reply. His attention, although fogged by the pain racking his body, was entirely on the wall.

He was searching for something that William hadn’t yet realised.

Until Edward’s breath hitched, his nail dipping into a noticeable grove.

Their eyes locked as Edward ran his thumbnail vertically down, tearing the wallpaper as he went.

“What’s that?” William said, stepping closer, although careful to stay away from the window.

Hooking slender fingers into the tear, Edward began peeling back strands of the wallpaper until the answer was clear before William. “A hidden door. Of course a haunted house isn’t complete without hidden doors… is it?”

Discomfort etched inside him, barely noticeable considering how much of a tenant that emotion had become since arriving at Hanbury. “Do you think this is what Robert wanted us to find.”

A place to hide. Somewhere hidden which only an old soul would know about.

“Yes,” Edward said with certainty. “I believe so.”

He didn’t stop tearing and ripping, not until a dark-stained door was revealed. There was no handle, just a smooth and flat surface, all besides the rusted-looking lock placed tauntingly before them. “And I also think we’ve just found where that extra key is supposed to fit.”

William knew Edward was right, deep in his core.

Because the journal entry also mentioned something else that Robert had heard.

He himself believed that Hanbury was haunted because he heard movement from inside the walls.

What if it was just him hearing his father host meetings inside this hidden room?

There was only one way to find out.

“Stay here,” William said, his mind drawing up an image of the keys hanging by the door downstairs. “I’ll be a second.”

Edward didn’t ask what he was doing, nor did he try and stop William from leaving. Instead, fixing all-seeing eyes on him, Edward’s lips parted enough to offer him some words of warning. “Go. Be quick.”

There was no hesitation as William barrelled outside of the study. He ran across the landing, threw himself down the stairs and came to a skidding halt in the corridor. The front door was in the distance, and beyond the cracked glass, William saw the outline of a person.

A shadow waited beyond Hanbury, rattling the door handle, confirming that whoever was there was trying to get in.

In that moment, both parties noticed each other. William made out the person lifting a hand to their brow as they leaned into the glass, pressing their face close in. Muffled words greeted him.

“I know you’re in here.” A twisted voice sang. The door thudded with the crack of a knuckle. “Open up. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

William recognised the voice, but sheer panic stopped him from placing it in his mind. Instead, he was driven by this strange and sudden possessiveness. The need to protect – not himself – but his house.

And Edward.

Instead of responding with words, because there was no point for them, William lifted his middle finger. Perhaps the man wouldn’t make out the details of the gesture, but to William, it felt fucking fantastic.

With confident strides, he moved to the door. The knocking became banging as the man beyond demanded to be let in.

He recognised the voice, like a tickle at the back of his mind.

Snatching the keys off the hook, William turned to move back up the stairs when glass sprayed inwards from behind. A gloved fist had burst through the pane. William choked on a garbled shout and ran.

There was no point waiting around to see what happened next. He heard the click of the bolt, the snap of the handle. Clearly, the intruder had figured out that asking for entry was wasted breath, and he’d have to let himself in.

William took two stairs at a time. The sheer speed of this escape had him barrelling into the wall, all before he could turn up the final flight.

“Boy, come out, come out…” The last thing he heard of the man as he gave chase was an almost misplaced comment. “What is that smell?”

Edward’s eyes flew wide as William made it back into the study, closing the door softly behind him. He looked like he’d been sleeping, but William knew the reality was much worse.

“He’s in the house.”

“No time to waste then,” Edward said, struggling back off the floor. “Try the door.”

Not needing another warning, Edward hobbled to the uncovered door and pressed his weight on it.

William’s hand shook violently as he fumbled with the keys.

He began fitting them into the lock of the hidden door, trying but failing to find the right one.

Footsteps barrelled up the stairs, a deep baritone voice shouted, calling out as if the intruder was playing some sort of game.

And William fucking hated games.

“I know this manor better then you do,” the man cried. “I’ll find you, boy.”

By the time William found the right key, he almost cried with relief.

There wasn’t room for thought, not as he forced the old hinges open with the force of his shoulder.

He was greeted by stale air – so thick it clogged his throat.

The room beyond was dark, filled with countless shapes illuminated by a single, dirtied window on the far side.

Extending his hand, he reached for Edward. He flung himself from his barricade at the door, closing the gap between them just as the study burst open. Edward dove into the secret room, crashing against the floor, seconds before the intruder gave chase.

With everything left in him, William slung the door closed right in the face of Mike Dean – the unwelcoming man from the pub on his first day. He seemed to look right through William, more focused on the shock of what he saw before him – but it wasn’t surprise on his face.

“Lock it,” Edward groaned, clutching his side as he curled on the floor. William didn’t need to be told twice. He stabbed the key into the lock’s other side, turned it and fumbled backwards.

Dust rained down from the ceiling above as Mike Dean hammered his heavy body over and over into the door. William held his breath, expecting that it would give way at any moment and he’d break through.

He backed away until something firm pressed into his behind. His hands fumbled behind him, fingers digging into the hard kiss of wood.

It took a while, but Mike eventually gave up. His furious shouts and the cacophony of curses ceased. Then they heard it, the stomp of feet moving away. William tracked the noise to his left, imagining Mike leaving across the landing and returning down the stairs.

“I think he’s leaving,” Edward gasped, almost laughing at the realisation.

William didn’t believe it. “No. He’ll be back.”

The question was, why? Why did Mike Dean hurt Edward? Why would he say to someone on the phone that he wanted to kill William? None of it made sense, that was until William had enough focus to turn his attention back to the hidden room.

What he’d walked back into was a table – the type you’d expect in a dining room. A place where a large family could share a meal or for a group of people could sit to meet.

So this was where Robert Thomas’s father held those secretive meetings.

William’s gaze fell on the chair at the head of the table.

It was reminiscent of a throne with the back carved in a strange shape.

A shape that William was all too familiar with.

The snake, chasing its tail. Similar but smaller chairs took up either side of the table, neatly tucked beneath it, waiting for someone to come and sit upon it.

Edward got off the floor, groaning as he used a sideboard to hold his weight.

His focus wasn’t on the table but something hanging from the wall.

Pictures – countless black-and-white photographs hung in gilded frames.

Moving to see what captured Edward’s attention, William noticed how faded they were, as if the years of sunlight from the single window had bleached them, leeching the details.

But what the sun couldn’t touch was the brass plaque nailed into the frame.

On it, labelled perfectly beneath each of the ten figures, were names.

“What are we looking at, Edward?” William said, sensing the answer was so close, but he didn’t want to take it.

Edward traced his finger over the etching of that strange symbol. It was worn into the plaque, but that wasn’t it because everyone in that photo wore it upon them, a large white symbol stitched onto the hearts of the hooded cloaks they wore.

“I think we’re looking at a…” Edward stopped himself, digging teeth into his lower lip.

“A cult?” William finished.

“I hope not.”

And there, just where Edward’s finger settled, was the name of Robert’s father. And beside him, towering and equally ominous with hollow dark eyes, was a man by the name of Andrew Dean.