Robert Thomas stood waiting for them on the landing. His outline wavered in the sunlight that shone through the window at his back, making his edges twist like tendrils of shadow repelling the light. He settled haunted eyes on them both, turned around without moving his legs, and then drifted up the stairs.
“Come to me, Teddy,” Robert said all without opening his mouth. His sky-blue eyes bore into Edward, pain and sadness etched into every crease. “Come to me.”
Edward showed no signs of hearing Robert, but William did. His voice echoed in his mind, never quietening.
“He wants us to follow him,” William said, mouth dry as bone.
A hand found his. Looking down, he watched as fingers knotted themselves together, Edward forging a bound between them. “Let’s not keep the man of the manor waiting then.”
As one, they followed the phantom, unsure where it would lead them. Unlike before, William didn’t feel scared anymore. Not of Hanbury, but what lurked outside of it. How could he fear something that he could see?
“Robert, wait,” William called out.
The ghost stopped, neck bending at an unnatural angle as it looked back at William. It lifted a finger and pointed at William, then swept his arm around and pointed at a room.
Robert’s command was clear. It pointed at his father’s study – the room directly opposite Robert’s bedroom. He swept forward, pausing beyond the door and then disappearing through it. He wanted them to follow.
Without question, that’s exactly what they did.
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.
