Elizabeth Hand: Wylding Hall

Nance moved to Florida years ago, to a tiny village called Cassadaga. A spiritualist community, psychics and witches and what-have-you. Mediums. She makes a good living from it, and I say more power to her. Les and I have visited several times and it’s lovely. Palm trees, not too far from Daytona Beach. She does readings online and over the phone; you should check out her website — oakenashes.com

Jonno

Billy and I stayed in touch over the years. He comes up to London whenever the Hammers play, saw us overseas when he was on holiday. He’s an estate agent in the village now. It’s become a big place for retirees and second homes. He’s done quite well. He knows the area like the back of his hand, knows everyone in town.

The photos were just a flash in the pan. He never pursued it, far as I know. It would be an expensive hobby for a farm boy. When Barry and I started looking for a place outside of London, we called him up and ended up getting our house through him. So, now we see him and his boyfriend quite often. I was down in the spring, and that’s when he told me about the construction at Wylding Hall.

Billy

Wylding Hall has absentee owners now; they live in Dubai. I keep an eye on the place for them. They want to put plumbing in the old wing, but they needed to get permission from the local council before they started tearing up the grounds. Some of the old-timers don’t like the idea. I know my granddad wouldn’t have approved.

Tom

I worked out a deal with Billy Thomas. I paid him outright for fair use of his photograph on the album cover, a quite decent sum for an amateur. Then I paid him another thousand quid to hand over the negatives and the original prints. He asked me what I was going to do with them. I said I’d keep them, all except for the last two. Those I intended to destroy.

He didn’t put up any argument. He’d seen the pictures — for all I knew, he might have known something about that girl. Local knowledge. Whatever his reasons, he had no objection to the terms of our deal. A thousand pounds was a huge amount of money in 1972. I hadn’t exactly set him up for life, but the money gave him a stake for whatever he wanted to do after school.

He didn’t seem like the uni type, so I suggested he take some of it and travel once he’d graduated. He did — knocked around Europe for a while on a Eurail pass; I think he went down to Tangier at one point. Settled in London for a few years, then decamped back to his hometown and hung out a shingle as an estate agent.

I destroyed the photos — but only the last two. Set them on fire that afternoon in the Moonthunder office, right after the others left. Burned them in the waste bin. A terrible stink they made, too.

There’s no chance I’ll forget what they looked like. That girl’s face is burned into my mind’s eye like a hot spark. I could see her clear as yesterday if I closed my eyes and thought about it. But you couldn’t pay me enough money to do that, ever.

East Hampshire Echo

April 14, 2014

Renovation of the oldest wing of Wylding Hall has been halted as the result of an unanticipated discovery: a Neolithic passage grave beneath the fourteenth century manor house. A construction crew led by Morris Taggersell of Taggersell Builders came upon the prehistoric structure when they moved a massive eight-ton boulder under a corner foundation. “I’m accustomed to finding surprising things during site work, but never something like this,” Taggersell said yesterday. “The owners have been contacted, and they have agreed to suspend any new construction until a proper assessment has been made.”

Preliminary examinations by an archaeological team from the University of Winchester have turned up flint arrowheads and other weapons, glass and bone beads, and a number of animal skeletons, as well as a human femur and skull. Carbon dating will provide additional information as to exactly how old the site is.

Chief archaeologist Dr. Elise Rossi made an even more surprising discovery when she unearthed a man’s modern wristwatch amongst a cache of grave goods that also included stone bird figurines and a bone flute. “We have absolutely no idea how that got in there,” she said. “There’s no sign whatsoever of any kind of disturbance that might have caused its inclusion with the grave goods.” Dr. Rossi added that carbon dating would not be necessary for that particular artifact.

Nancy O’Neill

Will forwarded me the article about the construction — Jonno had sent it to all of them. Les was the one most upset about it; she rang me up. We hadn’t talked for about a year, so after she vented for a bit, we caught up. She sounds good — happy with Will after all these years. Much better match for him than I would have been.

What do I think it all means? I believe there could be any number of explanations, but I don’t feel comfortable discussing it.

Ashton

I’ve told you what I think. Julian is dead. The girl too, probably. Murdered and buried, or their bodies dropped into the sea.

Or drug overdose, or death by exposure from sleeping rough.

Or he might be in a mental institution — he was obviously going off the rails. He might have become so out of it, he forgot who he is. That happens sometimes. So, maybe he’s in a loony bin somewhere.

But I don’t think so. I think he met some horrible fate, and it’s a blessing we don’t know about it. That’s why I don’t like talking about it. One reason, anyway.

Will

The photos I saw in the pub — the hunting of the wren — the song Julian unearthed and a half-naked girl with feathers on her feet … it all adds up, doesn’t it?

Les

Jonno floated me his idea for us all getting together there in the summer, if Billy can arrange something with the owners. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’d love to see everyone, I’m just not sure I want to see them all there . But I’ll wait to hear what the others think. We’ll see.

Jonno

I’ve always felt that if Julian was dead, I would know it. He was such a big person in so many ways, his talent and his beauty, his belief that the world held a mystery he wanted to unlock. If he were actually dead, there would be such an absence in the world. And I don’t feel that.

There’s something else, too, something I’ve never told anyone, not even Barry. I would just as soon tell it now for anyone who wants to know. I’ll just hope the others won’t hold it against me.

Eight years ago, Barry and I were on holiday in Corfu. There was a festival going on, a saint’s day with a big procession and all kinds of celebrating and a massive crowd. Marching bands, street musicians, parades. People carrying ancient effigies and relics. Like that.

I was squeezing through the crowd on my own. Barry hates crowds, so he stayed back at the hotel. I kept my head down to make sure I didn’t step on someone or trip. Eventually, the street widened and I could look up again. It was still a huge throng, but I could breathe, at least.

And I saw Julian, I saw Julian Blake, edging through the crowd. The girl, too. I was so shocked, I couldn’t say anything, but then I shouted out his name.

He didn’t hear me. Neither of them did. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself. The girl didn’t look at me, and thank god for that.

But Julian did. Julian stared right at me. I started towards him, but at that moment an entire children’s orchestra came parading through the street. I tried to push my way through, but it was too late. He was gone. They both were gone.