Warnings: Weird and (but maybe not) creepy.
It was late when Jimmy and Alfred arrived back from their outing in town. The sun, having set hours ago, had allowed the slow descent of darkness to eclipse the grounds, and Thomas sat under the warm, electric glow inside – lights made hazy from his cigarette. Like many of the servants, he was still up despite the hour; the family had retired much earlier than usual, which allowed Thomas and the others to catch up on a few outstanding tasks and still have time to enjoy an evening's reprieve together. Thomas spent it sitting and reading the day's newspaper, smoking incessantly and idly listening to the others, while Jimmy and Alfred had been excused for a quick jaunt into town, for what Thomas could only assume was a hurried pint and a very brief game of darts.
Thomas heard them before he saw them. Unusually heavy footfalls followed the sharp slam of the door, each step kinetic and forceful, resonating through the halls with vehemence. Thomas frowned as the unmistakable tones of Mr. Carson joined these notes – and the murmured pitch of Jimmy's and Alfred's replies – slowly grew in volume until they reached the hall.
Thomas' heart jumped to his throat when Jimmy appeared at the door first, obviously agitated and dishevelled. It was immediately apparent that he was in an unusual state of undress; the bow tie normally knotted tightly over his Adam's apple dangled loose and forgotten around his neck – his collar was unbuttoned and his shirt pulled askew. But the unblemished skin that Thomas so often imagined and deliberately ignored was hidden underneath a bundled handkerchief, clutched within straining fingers.
It was the dark splatter of drying blood staining his neck, pulled by gravity and dripping down to the hidden expanse of his chest and soiling the crisp, white edges of his shirt that caused a fierce and riotous fear to coil its frozen fingers around Thomas' insides.
He stared in alarm – incapable of speech – as Jimmy made a direct line for the empty chair opposite to where Thomas sat himself, while Thomas made an aborted attempt to stand – concern and distress alighting movement through muscles made of led – before he could realise what his body was doing and he sat back down again. But his hesitation went unnoticed due to everyone else's shock and concern for seeing Jimmy as he was. Mr. Carson soon followed behind him, his light and quick footsteps at odds with the solid mass of his barrelled chest as he chased the footman into the room.
"What on Earth happened?" Mrs. Hughes gave words to the question going through everyone's minds.
Jimmy merely groaned at the question and seemed to shrink from the attention. When it was clear that he was intent to stay silent and stew in his own pain and self-pity, Alfred spoke up.
"It were an animal attack."
"Which is why," Carson intoned, "I should call upon Doctor Clarkson in case of any… disease." He said as if the very word left a sour taste in his mouth. He was staring intently at the red-tinged cloth pressed at the flesh where Jimmy's shoulder met his neck with mild disgust.
Jimmy groaned for a second time and winced when he pulled the cloth away from the skin, baring a glistening and messy tear – blood still trickling lazily from his neck. The fabric was stained with dark crimson, and Thomas and Jimmy wore matching grimaces at the ghastly sight of it before the blonde replaced his makeshift bandage.
"I can always take a look at it," Thomas offered, finally finding his voice. Jimmy raised his eyes to meet Thomas' and wasn't quick enough to hide the darkened look of suspicion that cut through the haze of pain. "I was a medic after all. I still remember basic triage." He said with some bite to his words which he regretted when he saw Jimmy's look soften and then crease again with pain.
Carson turned to him with a grateful expression that surprised Thomas, "Thank you, Thomas that would be very helpful. That way we can wait until morning to ring Doctor Clarkson and save him coming out so late."
Thomas merely nodded and turned to Daisy, who had gone pale at the entrance of the wounded footman.
"Daisy, I'll need two bowls of very hot water and several clean cloths – things that won't be missed when I bin them, but they have to be clean," he stressed and turned towards the butler when she scampered off towards the kitchens, "And Mr. Carson, could we spare some clear alcohol?"
Thomas stood up and rounded the table, sitting next to Jimmy and pulling the chair close to the other man until their chairs knocked. Their eyes met briefly as the legs scraped against the floor before both of them looked away – Jimmy towards the table and Thomas to the wound. Something fluttered strangely in a combination of worry and excitement as this had been the closest he had been to Jimmy in a very long time. He could smell the sweet smell of his cologne slightly laced with sweat and something that was undefinabley Jimmy.
He grasped at the handkerchief, careful to avoid Jimmy's fingers, and pulled it away, exposing the ruined skin just north of his clavicle.
"You said an animal attacked you?" Thomas asked. He took in the dirtied suit and the usually tidy curls spiralling wildly with the detritus of leaves and silt. Whatever beast had attacked him had enough force behind it to level him to the ground, "What kind of animal would do that?"
Jimmy, resolute in his vow of silence, just shrugged to show his ignorance.
"Didn't you see it?" Thomas asked again, confused. Jimmy levelled a dark glare before responding.
"Pardon me for not getting a better look at the thing that was makin' a meal out of my neck," he replied testily, his tone strained and bitter towards Thomas – a tone that Thomas had not heard ever since the two had formed a friendship. He gestured towards Alfred, who was still hovering by the door, "Ask him. I had other things on my mind."
The footman in question shook his head with a grimace, "I don't know. It happened so fast, and it was dark…"
Thomas barely contained the need to roll his eyes. He chose instead to nod his thanks as Daisy and Carson returned and placed their respective bounty on the table in front of Thomas.
"Now, I can't promise this won't hurt," Thomas said as he picked up his supplies. He failed to finish his sentence as he went to work cleaning out the wound as there wasn't much else he could offer in terms of comfort. Thomas quickly lost himself in his work, forgetting that it was Jimmy under his fingers and that he was close enough to see him twitch. Jimmy, for his part, remained mostly quiet under his ministrations, only permitting a few hisses to escape when Thomas dragged a cloth against a particularly deep part of the gash. Once cleansed, Thomas tried to mask his own look of disgust as the wound looked more like a shredded mar of flesh than the precision imprint of an animal bite. He wrapped one of the remaining cloths around his neck as best as he could as a makeshift bandage. When it was done, the strain of keeping quiet had taken its toll on Jimmy.
"I don't think you'll need stitches," Thomas offered, "but it would still be beneficial if Doctor Clarkson took a look at it in the morning. I can only guess that he might suggest a vaccine against rabies."
"Perfect," Jimmy mumbled, looking very suddenly tired and drawn.
"But in the meantime, you should get some rest," Thomas said.
"Yes," Carson agreed, "I think we could all get some rest after this excitement."
Thomas watched as Jimmy left for the attic, but his simmering concern had cooled. Having been able to see the wound and tangibly help the blonde eased a lot of his own worry. He remained in the hall for a few minutes to gather the bowls of dyed water and dirtied cloths, and after pouring out the water and throwing out the rags, he followed everyone else up the steps towards the attic.
When Thomas walked the halls of the men's dormitory, he paused at Jimmy's door. Curiosity burned as he wondered just what had happened that night, and he believed that in a private audience Jimmy would be more forthcoming with any details of his attack that he withheld in the presence of ladies. But as he stood in front of the door, he stopped himself, still after all this time of friendship, wary of calling upon Jimmy in his room – the site and proof of his misguided indiscretion. As he lingered in the hall, he couldn't hear the soft, muted sounds of movement in the room, and he decided against rapping against the door to speak with the blonde. He turned towards his own room; his curiosity could wait.
Almost any evidence of the wound was carefully hidden under Jimmy's tightly collared and pristine white shirt the next morning. Had it not been for the tense and delicate way he was holding himself against the obvious pain in his shoulder, the previous night's unusual events could have easily been a nightmare concocted by Thomas' over-active imagination. An air of despondency, however, surrounded the footman, who ignored the others chatting around him. Sluggish blinks betrayed a clearly sleepless night as he stared at his untouched – and rapidly cooling – porridge.
"Have you yet made arrangements with Doctor Clarkson, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes asked, casting a concerned look down the table at the quiet man.
"Yes, he said he would be arriving shortly after noon, as he has some previous engagements in town." Carson responded.
Mrs. Hughes nodded, "Well that is good news, isn't it, James?"
A moment passed before he responded, speaking towards the table, "Yes, ma'am."
"Are you alright?" She asked, "You're not as yourself this morning."
Jimmy dragged his eyes away from his bowl and fixed Mrs. Hughes with a glare, but his voice was insipid as he responded, "I'm fine. Just tired, is all."
She appraised his wan face and then eyed the porridge disbelievingly, "If you say so."
Thomas shared her concern. Something obscure but unmistakeable had descended over the table, making Thomas uncomfortable. A heavy feeling had settled in his stomach and it had nothing to do with his breakfast – a sensation closer to dread but for reasons he could not rightly identify other than disliking the unusual gloom that Jimmy was exuding in waves. As the conversation between the others resumed, Thomas realised he was the only one to still be watching him. Perhaps he was just being overly sensitive – the rote motions of cleaning the wound bringing back feelings and thoughts of a time that Thomas was not at ease with. Still, when his friend continued to stare at his breakfast – where his gaze was glued to for the remainder of the meal – Thomas could not shake his feeling of foreboding.
As the staff rose from their seats to start the day, Thomas approached Jimmy and halted his movements with a hand on his arm.
"Are you sure you're alright?" He took the time to really look at the younger man and noticed the beginnings of bags forming under his eyes.
Jimmy returned his gaze unblinkingly and said flatly, "Yeah." He cleared his throat," Yes. I, uh, just need to…" He trailed off distractedly before shrugging out of Thomas' grasp. The under-butler watched as he walked hurriedly out of the room.
The low buzz of concern he had harboured that morning had only worsened by the time they had their tea. If it was possible, Jimmy looked more tired and pale than he did in the morning, and he was just as quiet. Thomas was halfway through his own meal before he realised Jimmy had once again not touched his own. He slowed the fork moving towards his mouth as that sunk in.
Anna noticed this fact at the same time.
"Are you not hungry, James?" She asked.
Jimmy looked towards the lady's maid but said nothing, silence stretching uncomfortably between the two. When it continued beyond what could be considered polite, the other staff members turned towards him. He was glaring unflinchingly at Anna – face expressionless – his eyes fixed in a focused, boundless stare that trapped both he and the lady's maid in a mutual look. Anna frowned and squirmed under the weight of it but couldn't look away from dark blue orbs boring into her own.
Beside her, John was disgruntled by the shared look between the footman and his wife. "James?" He prompted – a heat that Thomas could understand undercutting the name, as he felt as if he was observing an intimate moment that should have occurred behind closed doors. If it wasn't so awkward, he would have smirked that it involved Anna Bates of all people.
Without breaking eye contact, Jimmy said hollowly, "I am hungry." He had begun to breathe heavily through an open mouth. A slight flush had begun to crawl up Anna's neck as she sat motionless.
"Then perhaps you should eat your food," John ground out, reaching down the table to nudge the plate before the blonde.
Jimmy blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream when his plate was touched and looked towards the congealed meat pie on its surface with a grimace. With an audible swallow, he pushed the plate away from him.
"No, I—," he shook his head, ruffling his curls, "I'm not feeling…" he trailed off, his voice weak. A hand rose to knead his forehead as he closed his eyes, breathing loudly through his nose.
"It's just so loud," he moaned.
Alarm – hot and electric – shot through Thomas. The others looked at each other in confusion, as it was uncharacteristically quiet in the hall for a meal.
Mrs. Hughes frowned, "I don't like the sounds of that." She rose from her seat and walked over to Jimmy, who was still cradling his head. She reached out and placed the back of her hand against his forehead.
"You're like ice!" She exclaimed. She twisted her hand around, cupping his skin with her palm. His eyes fluttered as he pressed into her warm touch.
"Maybe you should go have a lie down, Jimmy, and we can ring for Doctor Clarkson again," She suggested softly.
He startled from her touch, eyes wide with alarm, "No!" He winced as his movements pulled at his injury, "I mean… I have plenty to do tonight. I couldn't possibly spare the time."
Carson frowned and decided to join the conversation. "We can afford your absence this evening if you're feeling poorly, James. Please, go to bed before you get any worse and we have a real issue on our hands."
Jimmy looked towards the table, looking impossibly small. "Please don't make me," He whispered.
The furrow in Thomas' brow matched that of Carson's at these words, and the anxious weight in his stomach from before reappeared. Abject misery laced Jimmy's words, but – more worryingly – Thomas could trace a hint of fear –dank and musky – corrupting the phrase – a form of distress Thomas hadn't heard since he had last treated a terrified man clinging to his uniform in the mud.
Suddenly Jimmy rose from his seat, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste. "I just remembered I, uh, I… have to go. Excuse me," He stuttered awkwardly before leaving the hall.
Carson sat at the head of the table at a loss for words, both because of Jimmy's unusual behaviour and because the footman did not wait to be pardoned from the meal. But in his shock, he said nothing and looked towards Mrs. Hughes, still standing behind Jimmy's now abandoned place setting.
"I think we should all give James a bit of time to rest," She said with a frown, "I'm sure he's still reeling from the shock of last night."
Thomas didn't see Jimmy again until the dinner service was about to begin. He had been loitering in the kitchen, assuming (as did Carson) that Jimmy was resting and would be unable to fulfill his duties as first footman. Thomas would step in and serve that evening, and so was standing next to Alfred while the kitchen staff bustled about pulling things from ovens and stoves and rushing to plate them in time. As he waited next to his platter, he saw Jimmy enter the kitchen with a scowl.
"What on Earth is that horrible smell?" He asked staring at the fish Mrs. Patmore was placing on the platter that Thomas was to carry. Jimmy sidled up against the under-butler, crowding his space and all but pushing him away from the dish.
"Oh what are you on about, James?" Daisy asked in exasperation, having heard of his strange behaviour earlier in the day.
"Are you to be His Lordship's cook now?" Mrs Patmore cut in and continued at his puzzled frown, "Then you can keep your criticisms to yourself and serve like you're supposed to."
He continued to look darkly at the offending fish. "It smells as if you burnt it." He accused, prompting a disbelieving gasp from the cook.
To Thomas (and judging from everyone else's confused looks) it smelled delicious. And he was certain he had caught Jimmy stealing a piece of fish prepared in the very same fashion last week when the family had returned enough of it to the kitchens one evening.
"I really think you should go to bed. Mr. Carson said it was alright, and I don't mind filling in," Thomas reminded the footman.
Jimmy turned and didn't quite make his eye. Thomas flushed slightly when he realised that his gaze had settled somewhere just below his chin – that Jimmy was staring intently as his neck.
"I'm fine," he stressed. He seemed to shake himself from a daze and averted his eyes, gripping at the platter tightly, "Come on, Alfred, we're going to be late."
He swivelled on the spot and left for the stairs, not waiting for Alfred to follow.
"What's gotten into 'im?" Ivy asked bemusedly as she filled Alfred's dish. Thomas hung his head when Alfred opened his mouth.
"Could be rabies, you know, that's makin' him sick," Alfred said. "My dad had an uncle once who got bit by something and said he went strange after that."
"But rabies can kill you, can't it?" Daisy asked.
Thomas shared a frustrated look with Mrs. Patmore and sighed harrowingly, "Yes, which is why Doctor Clarkson came to see him this morning. I wouldn't worry too much about anyone dying anytime soon. Now off you go, Alfred, before it gets cold."
The next morning, Jimmy was absent at breakfast, which Thomas took as him finally understanding the necessity of rest. The under-butler didn't see him until much later in the afternoon. He was upstairs, turning down an oft-used hallway when he saw Jimmy crowding one of the new scullery maids. She was flush against the wall, torn between evading and submitting to his touch as Jimmy, impossibly close, pressed his body into hers. One of his hands rose to grip her neck just under her jaw – his thumb pressing against her pulse point – while the other was hidden, moving, between their bodies. Thomas watched in choked disbelief as Jimmy dipped his head close to her ear and whispered something too quiet for him to catch – his lips teasing her ear lobe. A crimson blush burned her cheeks as he kept his face next to hers and continued to murmur softly, oblivious to Thomas' approach. As he drew near, her eyes caught Thomas', simultaneously terrified, aroused, and ashamed.
"James?" Thomas asked loudly, intent to break this tryst apart. Anyone – a servant, or worse, a family member – could be walking down this hallway and be witness to this at any moment.
Jimmy quickly stepped backwards and released the maid, allowing a canyon of empty space to separate the two. He turned towards Thomas with a delighted grin. It was obvious he was hard.
"Thomas!" He took a step towards the under-butler. Immediately, the maid peeled herself away from the wall and went running down the hall without another look towards the men. Thomas prayed it wasn't to find Mrs. Hughes.
"What do you think you're doing?" Thomas hissed, impossibly angry and concerned (and a little bit hurt) that Jimmy would do something so foolish.
"Only having a bit of fun," Jimmy shrugged, unconcerned, eyes glued to Thomas as he took a step forward.
Suddenly, the hallway was too small, contracting and truncating until it was just Thomas and Jimmy; it was almost as if he could feel the other man right next to him despite being several steps away. Jimmy oozed a heady aura that at once was intoxicating and threatening, and Thomas swayed on his feet from the strength of it. With each step he took towards the under-butler, it doubled in intensity until it was a stifling, sultry haze enveloping Thomas and making it hard to breathe, to think – until Thomas was overpowered, drained of all anger and burning only with desire, breathing raggedly and his heart beating wildly in his chest – the other's casual words searing a wave of heat through Thomas' belly, and he shivered at the dulcet tones that were at odds with the amatory – predatory – twist to his body.
"You can't be doing that sort of thing," he replied weakly, drawn suddenly to Jimmy's eyes. For all the times he looked at them, he had never known their beauty – their true hue – until now and he wanted to memorise each speck of colour and preserve their pattern in his mind. How little they blinked, he thought, as his own lids lowered sluggishly until his eyes were at half-mast with lethargy and unspent need – desire pulsating thick and hot in his veins. He wanted to match them in their ceaseless stare – pinned as he was – but he was just so drowsy, he could all but keep them open between rapid blinks. He needed to lose himself in their depths, already halfway disoriented as the concept of self, separate from Jimmy, was starting to lose its definitions. Behind him, the lights shorted out one by one until it was just him – everything beyond Jimmy was a darkened miasma of inconsequential space slowly being swallowed up by his need to be with him.
Jimmy's smile broadened into a leer, "Why? Are you jealous?"
Thomas shook his head imperceptively; what Jimmy had been doing with the maid was highly inappropriate – dangerous – and if anyone else had found them, they would have been liable to have been fired. This hallway was a popular route through the house, and Thomas didn't need any other reason to test the limits of His Lordship's goodwill towards him. But it was true, he was jealous and the thrill of being caught was almost as good as the thought of having his hands roam Jimmy's body – the minute shake of his head was all he could do to hide what was so obvious to both of them. Thomas had been consumed by the humid eroticism dripping off of Jimmy, and he had never before been as turned on as he had now – so much so that it was as if his body had shorted out, heart stuttering and lungs panting, muscles and tendons frozen with desire, incapable of moving towards the other man, even though he wanted to be crushed against the wall and feel the hard contours of Jimmy's body against his own. He needed to be next to Jimmy – to have Jimmy's hands on him – to feel the heat of his breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, the low tenor exhaling obscene words. He needed his tongue sliding over his, and much, much more.
There was only a step separating the two of them.
"James!" Carson called from the other end of the hallway, and for a brief moment something sinister flashed over Jimmy's face, breaking whatever hold he had over Thomas, before smoothing into a look of pleasant indifference. Thomas took a gasping breath as his body cooled, abruptly aware of his surroundings – the hallway reverting to its normal size and lighting – and now painfully conscious and ashamed of how his pants were tented, cock leaking. He took a hurried step back away from the footman, turning to hide his erection from Carson.
"I've been looking for you. I need your assistance downstairs," he continued, oblivious to the tension held between Thomas' shoulders as Jimmy took a step forward
"Of course, Mr. Carson. Whatever I can do to help," Jimmy winked at Thomas as he passed him, stalking towards the butler with swagger crackling with confidence and nefarious purpose. Thomas stood confused in the middle of the hallway and watched them go, willing his body to calm down. He could still smell Jimmy's spicy scent that smelled so different from his usual cologne, and the clinging odour was nearly enough to drive him over the edge. He felt oddly small and rudderless as if something terribly important had gone missing once he had been left alone in the hallway.
He turned into one of the rooms off of the hallway to escape the openness of the hallway. He hoped to high heaven that he would encounter no one on his shameful walk back to his room, where he'd have to change his trousers.
Thomas didn't see him for the remainder of the day. His initial relief at escaping a run-in with the footman soon gave away to concern when Jimmy missed both the servant's tea and the family's dinner service. Carson informed Thomas during their meal that Jimmy had finally bowed down to pressure and had retired to his bedroom to rest. A large part of Thomas' worry deflated, as he realised that Jimmy's absence couldn't be blamed on what had happened in the hallway, as no one had been alerted to his encounter with the scullery maid. She had refused to meet Thomas' eye at the beginning of the supper, but had remained quiet during the meal. Though Thomas felt torn about it, he was ultimately relieved she seemed intent on keeping it to herself.
After he concluded his evening tasks that night, Thomas found himself in the servant's hall with the Bates and Mrs. Hughes. He sat, debating with himself if he should say anything, while the others tended to their own chores.
"Mrs. Hughes," Thomas started uncertainly, "Do you know if James has been seen by Doctor Clarkson again?"
John stopped mending the jacket he had been working on and looked at Thomas with a guarded expression.
"No, but I imagine so. Mr. Carson made it clear that he should talk to him," Mrs. Hughes said, "Why?"
Thomas thought a moment, thinking of the delicacy of the situation. "It's just that… he's been acting very – strange, and I wonder if it was something..." He trailed off.
He wanted to say sinister, awful, terrible, anything that meant dark and heavy and wrong, but knew it would sound bizarre to anyone who had not been in that hallway earlier in the afternoon. The events, and the subsequent wank in his bedroom, had haunted him for the remainder of the day, and the more he had mulled over what had happened, the more he was disturbed by Jimmy's behaviour. It wasn't normal – for one Jimmy doing such things of such impropriety upstairs in the middle of the day – but it went beyond that.
Their friendship had blossomed over the months since the events of the fair, and they had developed a relaxed camaraderie that allowed for passing of jokes, easy smiles, and even interesting conversations. But Thomas was always conscientious of their past and was careful not do to anything that could be construed as taking advantage of their new closeness, and Jimmy was always careful not to spend lingering looks or touches on Thomas. The Jimmy in the hallway had been a completely different man, rough and piercing and forward in all the ways that he never been with Thomas. And, much to his humiliation, Thomas lapped it up.
Now, far away from the hallway and the cloying presence of the footman, Thomas was free from his thrall and desire had lessened. In its place settled fear, but he couldn't share that with Mrs. Hughes without explaining the exact details of what happened.
He finished his sentence lamely, "Was it something he told you about?"
Mrs. Hughes looked at Thomas as if sensing that he wasn't telling the complete truth.
"I'm not any more privy to the goings on of James than you are, but considering how well you get on now a-days, perhaps it's something you could ask him?" She asked with her eyebrows raised. She must have recognised the poorly disguised look of discomfort on his face, as she chose to take pity on him, "I think he's gone to bed for now, but in the morning I can ask for you."
In truth, the footman's behaviour had worried her as well.
He smiled thinly, thanking her, not noticing the look she shared with Mr. Bates as he excused himself and headed for his bedroom. Without thinking, he was at Jimmy's door with his hand grasped around the handle, ready to engage it, swing the door open, and enter into his room. Thomas released the metal as if it burned and jumped back when his mind caught up to his actions. His heart pounded recklessly, fear pulsating freely under the surface of his skin.
From a distance, he evaluated the door and its modest dimensions. With muted horror, he could detect the wood bloating slowly outwards, and the fine hairs at the back of his neck prickled sharply. The possibility of space behind the limits of the wooden frame had distended and stretched obscenely until Thomas was certain Jimmy's room could have housed a chasm of interlocking chambers and corridors whose endless shadows would devour and waste him. The room beyond it seemed impossibly quiet – the absence of sound swollen and suffocating compared to the din of the servant's hall he had left behind – a detail that added to the sense of awful enormity. But Thomas knew, logically, that Jimmy was there, confined only by the four small walls of his bedroom; he could feel his looming presence – smell that spice – burning silently through the door. It felt as if there was something more, something menacing lurking, bidding Thomas to just put his hand back to the handle – simply twist the lever and push. Whispers, intimate and quick – nearly incomprehensible – breathed at his neck and blanketed his ears, until they culminated into an articulated hiss demanding one thing.
Open the door.
Involuntarily, his hand found its way to the metal of the knob and his body pressed close against the wood, the whispered demands and his own curiosity impossible to deny; he craved to obey.
"Thomas?"
The spell was broken and he took a stumbling step backwards, hand stinging with pain. Alfred stood at his door with a puzzled look contorting his face.
"What are you doing?"
Thomas looked back at the door, which had deflated from its warped swell, innocuous and flush against its frame. The whispers now muzzled, Thomas could only hear his own frantic breaths.
"I—I," he stuttered, unable to articulate.
"You're not coming down with something too?" Alfred asked, assuming the glistening of Thomas' forehead to be the product of fever. "I hope it's not catching."
Thomas shook his head, "No. I—uh, I thought I heard something. That's all."
Alfred looked unconvinced but was unwilling to press the matter further. "The toilets are free," he mentioned with a nod towards the direction of the WC.
Thomas nodded jerkily in thanks and went straight for his own room, wanting to be alone and as far away from Jimmy as possible. He shut his door with as much force as he dared, leaning his head against the wood and releasing a shaky breath. He ensured that the latch had engaged properly and the door was firmly in its frame before he shifted and found the lamp in the darkness. Hastily, he pulled at the lamp's cord, reluctant to spend another second in the dark. The light bathed the room and dispelled the oppressive shadows that threatened to consume him, but his heart had yet to slow its desperate tempo, hammering powerfully against his rib cage.
Thomas stripped and replaced his clothing into his wardrobe, dressing in his pyjamas as rapidly as he could, all the while keeping an eye on the door. He continued to watch it as he slipped under the covers of his bed and huddled at the top near its frame, feeling impossibly young and foolish, but knowing he was being watched, even behind the security of the door – as though whatever had found him in front of Jimmy's room now waited on the other side of his door, biding its time until he let his guard down. He clenched his shaking fingers between his thighs when he realised he was trembling.
Thomas startled awake, unsure of what had awoken him but surprised to have fallen asleep at all. A painful and raw shriek pierced the night, reverberating through the halls and echoing in Thomas's silent room. It sent shivers down his spine as he shot up in bed. When it was followed by hoarse and desperate screeching – constant in their delivery – he leapt out of bed and crossed the distance to his door in seconds. His hesitated with his hand on the handle's metal for a moment as the terrified pitch of screams curdled his nerves, yet he knew he had to leave and so wrenched the door open.
Looking out into the hall, he saw that everyone was doing the same thing – one by one the men were poking the heads out in various states of wakefulness and panic as they tried to figure out who was screaming.
"What is the meaning of this?" Carson bellowed, wrapping his housecoat tight around his body, just as the wailing lessened and curtailed into a gurgled moan, before dying out completely. The hallway was deafeningly quiet in the aftermath, and everyone looked at each other, stunned.
Thomas noticed that only one door had stayed closed and pointed, calling the attention of the others with a cracking voice. Carson, who was closest to it, moved to open the door as the others crowded to see.
"Wait!" Thomas cried suddenly. Goose pimples erupted over his body in a flash as he thought back to the presence that had terrorised him in the hall earlier that night. He shivered, knowing the two to be connected - that something wasn't right. A quick look revealed that Jimmy's door was open, and that a scan of the faces proved that he was not present in the hall with the others.
Everyone stopped and turned to look at him.
"I don't think we should open that," Thomas said, pushing closer to the butler in order to stop him.
"I mean to—," Carson was interrupted when the door separating the men's dormitory from the women's opened and revealed Mrs. Hughes in her sleeping gown.
"Will someone please explain to me what is going on?" Mrs. Hughes said forcefully, though her face betrayed the concern of hearing such howls in the night. Behind her, several of the maids stood uneasily in the hall – Daisy and Ivy being at the forefront – huddled together and desperate to see into the men's side.
"It seems to be coming from Peter and Albert's room," Carson told her, still standing in front of the closed door of two of the newest hallboys. He gripped the handle tightly and twisted.
"No, don't—," Thomas shouted, pushing at the butler just as the door swung open.
Thomas' knees nearly buckled as the tang of copper surged through the open door, and he fought back a gag against the stench. Beside him he heard Carson gasp and belatedly realised he had his eyes clenched shut. Opening them, he stood stupefied before the ruined room and wished he had kept them closed, for blood painted the room, dripping from almost every surface. On one of the beds, a mess of viscera drenched the bedclothes, viscous red dripping from its edges to the floor where it collected in a expanding gulf. The boy – Peter or Albert – Thomas couldn't tell – had been eviscerated and torn apart until unrecognisable and hardly human but most certainly animal – fleshy and wet – an object roughly dissected and opened so Thomas could see the white of bone.
But the horrors of the bed were laughable to the nightmare unfolding in the centre of the room. Jimmy – his body contorted and larger, darker – huddled over a body. It was Albert, Thomas realised dully, as his face was turned towards the door, frozen in the throes of utter fright and agony. Jimmy's head – hair hanging and stained with entrails – bobbed against the boy's neck and obstructed the body from view. A growing pool of red was visible, seeping slowly towards Thomas' feet, as wet tearing noises of ripped flesh and suctioned juices accompanied the madness that greeted them. Thomas wanted to run as far and as fast as he could and never stop.
"What have you done," Carson whispered next to him.
At the sound, Jimmy's face snapped up and revealed a grinning mouth leaking with blood and a body saturated in burgundy splatter. Thomas blanched as Jimmy's eyes focused on them in the door. Once so blue, they were now empty pools of ebony, for the pupils had engorged until they had absorbed the entire pupil. The sharpening of his smile was the only warning before Jimmy launched himself at them, while they ineffectually pushed at each other to get away. He made contact with Carson, barrelling into his broad chest and tackling him to the floor.
Jimmy straddled the older man and curled his hands into the meat of his shoulders, eliciting a howl from Carson, who was still dazed from when his head hit the solid floor. He blinked rapidly as blood dribbled onto his face, having dripped from Jimmy's gaping maw – so close he could smell the putrid smell of death flow from between his teeth.
"Jimmy!" Thomas cried in misplaced bravery, pushing at the solid, immovable mass that was his shoulder as a low rumbled reverberated from deep within Jimmy's chest. With one hand still twisting Carson's shoulder, Jimmy shifted to fix Thomas with a hideous look – face sullied and vicious – a stare so unfathomably dark and endless Thomas felt light headed. All of the oxygen between them evaporated, leaving Thomas dizzy, tumbling lost and stupid into those pitch black eyes.
The next thing he knew he was thrown into Alfred, both of them falling to the ground in a mix of limbs. The uproar of the servants' frightened clamour blasted through Thomas' consciousness as he realised that the others had started to scream – fighting to move down the hall.
"What are you doing?!" Mrs. Hughes screamed, as she looked on horrified while the younger staff pushed towards her and the safety of the women's dormitory. At first, it looked as if Jimmy wasn't going to respond.
"It all makes sense now," he said in a voice deeper and more brutal than the one Thomas was so fond of. He pounded Carson's chest with both fists, "The thudding. The pounding. The incessant beating!"
He smiled ferally when he met Thomas' eyes.
"Lub-dub, lub-dub. So quick now because of your fear," his smile growing even larger showing stained teeth, "You don't even know how exhilarating you all are."
He turned back towards the butler, his smile curling into a menacing scowl, "But you. Did you know your heart always stutters?" He slid his body obscenely flush against the other, pressing his ear to his chest while the butler squirmed, "Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub… lub-dub-dub," he sang.
"Like a tired, old dog!" His tone oscillating, hardening in disgust, "On its way to its maker, aren't you? Like rotten, decaying meat turning in the sun. I bet you would even taste old."
His voice softened, almost sentimental, "Not like them, so young and pure… sweet."
He gripped the older man's head and rammed it hard against the floor as he uttered the last word. An audible crack resounded and Carson's body went limp. Jimmy sat up until his spine was fully erect and smirked, "You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that!"
He jumped deftly to his feet and drew to his full height, assessing the pandemonium of the servants with calculating eyes.
"Get back," Mrs. Hughes called. Thomas was unsure if that was meant for Jimmy, or for him and Alfred (still untangling themselves and pushing to their feet) to fall back to the door she now stood in, hand gripping her key ring tightly.
"Oh I think not," Jimmy laughed as he gripped Thomas' ankle and yanking him hard to the ground. Consciousness flickered when his head met the floorboards with a snap, and when he blinked awake, Jimmy had tugged him up by the lapels so that their faces were almost touching.
"You I'd be willing to wager taste sweeter than honey," he sighed, easily dragging Thomas to his feet and pushing him against the wall, grinding his body close.
Thomas blinked against the vertigo of changing positions so quickly and pushed weakly at Jimmy's chest. He looked away from his seeping mouth and made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes, and suddenly the afternoon's heat and madness came rushing back, consuming him – blazing through him, turning him out until he was just a shell ready to be filled up. Thomas' hands stilled against his chest, and they gathered fistfuls of Jimmy's jacket as he stared into the empty pools. Lost to the rhythmic beat of his own sluggish heart, he could almost see himself reflected in those orbs, and he suddenly felt very tired – unaware and unconcerned of the horrifying twist to Jimmy's face and the bedlam that surrounded them.
He was distracted as a bloodied tongue ran over full lips, leaving a glistening trail of red mayhem against the flesh. And Thomas was spellbound by the action. That spicy smell was back, filling him and encompassing his world until it was just the smell and the feel of Jimmy against his body and his own searing need.
"Would you like me to show you what I know?" Jimmy asked, trailing a bloody finger down the side of his face, stopping at his parted lips and delving into Thomas' warm and welcoming mouth. He sucked at it, heedless of the taste of blood, and barely contained a moan as this pushed him closer to the edge, heart fluttering madly against his ribs and stomach roiling tight with longing. His body ached with lust and he was delirious that he was this close with Jimmy but craved more, yearned for the ultimate, and so he nodded. Thomas felt Jimmy encourage his head to tilt away, exposing his neck to those sharp teeth. Jimmy pressed his body closer than Thomas had ever hoped he would, and he could feel the contagious heat rolling off of his body, sweltering and passionate, until Thomas was burning with a fever of his own.
Thomas was at a loss when Jimmy was flung away from him, and he slid down the wall, unable to hold himself up. Above him, Alfred stood – panting – with a cricket bat held firmly in his hands. Jimmy lay crumbled a few feet away from him, lax in unconsciousness.
"Are you alright?" Alfred asked, crouching slightly to look at him.
Thomas nodded jerkily as awareness flooded back and shame flared fiercely on his cheeks. He blinked away the remaining fog that had all but blinded him.
"Good," he turned back to a few hovering hallboys, "lads, you're going to have to help me move him."
Thomas watched numbly as they dragged Jimmy's still body down the hall and into Peter and Albert's room. They waited while Alfred shut the door and pulled it against the framing, cursing against the lack of locks. Turning back to the hallboys, he crouched. Together, they lifted Carson's limp body and carried him past Thomas and passed the threshold of the women's dormitory, where all but Alfred stayed. He jogged back to where Thomas was still seated and grabbed his arm.
"Come on," Alfred said as he dragged Thomas' weak body up, "We have to get out of here."
It wasn't until they were in the women's side and the door was shut and locked that the enormity of what just happened dawned on Thomas, who leaned on his knees and promptly vomited on his stocking feet.
"What was that? What was he doing? Why…" the litany of inane and unanswerable questions burst forth from the group as their collective fear and panic intensified. Thomas winced against the noise, his head ringing, and sat on his haunches, staring at the unconscious butler and breathing heavily.
"Nevermind that," Mrs. Hughes instructed sharply, "Everyone, I want you to stay calm. And Alfred, take George with you to call for the police."
"Thomas, are you alright?" She asked, placing a grounding hand against his back.
He sniffed and shook his head and rambled, "Yes, no—ehm, maybe… I don't know."
"Did he hurt you?"
Beyond a slight buzzing in his head, he was unharmed and said so.
"Good. Do you think you can take a look at Mr. Carson for me?" She asked, her voice soft despite the situation.
Thomas nodded numbly and crawled towards the butler; he was familiar with attending to the wounded when he was practically immobile with his own fear. The older man was unconscious, but he was breathing without hindrance and Thomas couldn't find any abrasion at the back of his head. By the time he had secured Carson's head in his hands, Alfred and George had returned.
"The police are coming," Alfred said, slightly winded from their run from the telephone.
Mrs. Hughes nodded grimly, "You'll have to inform His Lordship that they'll be coming, Alfred. Take George with you again, and just knock directly on his door – he'll understand," She said at his panicked face at the prospect of waking Lord Grantham in the dead of night. Thomas thought him daft for his anxiety – he had just, after all, whacked his friend in the head with a cricket bat.
But their words had slowly faded to the background, as hurried whispers nipped at Thomas' ears – their timbre more desperate and biting than before, frantically tumbling over themselves until they were a furious tempest of half-formed thoughts whirling around the under-butler.
Thomas.
He choked and spit out bile. They called again for him to come closer – give in – open the door – and find Jimmy.
A shadow darkened the window in the door as the doorknob rattled.
"Thomas, open this door!" Jimmy roared and pounded a fist against the door causing several of the servants to scream in fright.
His voice softened as it turned to pleas, "Please, Thomas. Please let me out. I—there's blood, a-and they're dead, and I don't know why you've locked me in, but I just want to get out. Please. I'll do whatever you want. Please!"
He sobbed, "Anyone? I don't understand… I—I'd like to come out now, please."
It felt as though Thomas' heart was breaking at the sound of desperation behind Jiimmy's words and he made a move towards the door. Jimmy needed him.
"Please Thomas just open the door. Please? I promise I'll suck your cock before I rip your fucking head off if you just. Open. The. Fucking. Door." Jimmy screeched, pounding at the wood to accentuate each word.
Thomas was halfway to his feet, gripping at the walls when his stomach bottomed out. He dropped the outstretched arm that he had no memory of raising and stared stricken at the door.
"Come along, Thomas," Mrs. Hughes called, "We're all going downstairs now."
Thomas sat despondently on one of the chairs that he had daydreamt about lounging in for years in the drawing room, but he couldn't enjoy it at all. Mrs. Hughes and Alfred were explaining to a confounded Lord Grantham what Jimmy had done while the others were sitting dejectedly around the room. Carson had awoken by the time he had been placed on one of the couches and was quietly lying with an arm thrown over his eyes, wisely choosing to ignore the affairs. Thomas found himself watching the proceedings feeling separate and strange – shock had probably kicked in by now – and he felt himself drifting between thoughts.
He was unsurprised when he heard the voices call out to him again and felt a tickle at the base of his neck. The whispers were back, and this time they were incessant – sharp and seductive in a way that was much louder than anything the others were saying in the room, even though the exact words were left indistinct. It felt more like an smudged impression of an insistent, undeniable message – a melodic calling enticing him towards treacherous rocks while his ears were unguarded and susceptible to its song. He smirked to think no one else could hear it.
Thomas
He was almost giddy at the collected purr of his name, drunk off the hushed summonings brushing at his ear, and being included in a secret language. As if tethered to an invisible lead, Thomas stood up and slowly inched towards the abandoned key ring left on the table.
Thomas, come
He felt heavy and vague as he evaluated the others who were oblivious when he walked out of the room. In a blink, he was upstairs and before the locked door in the women's dormitory watching with a grin as a bleak shadow slowly rose in the glassed window. Something bubbled deep within his chest but he ignored it for the thrill of what he was doing and what was to come. He thought he could see shiny teeth gleaming in the window and nearly wept. He found the key and shoved it into the hole, unlocking the catch in one swift movement. He grasped the handle.
Open the door
And he did.
Written less to deal with vampires (as this hardly deals with any of the myths) and more to bring the genre of horror into the fandom. I am not sorry.