Yes, that he'd known, or suspected at least, from what he's heard. Things like the manuscript, the house, things that resonate through time, they're always larger than their physical forms can possibly contain. Much like people, really. That's what makes them significant.

'Mmm,' he hums, eyes still on Johnny. His fingertips stroke idly over the tense curve of the chair's arm, remembering the feel of the letters pasted to the door.

'And then you started adding to it, mm? Like an academic; we're forever unable to resist throwing in our tuppence.' A self-deprecating smile. 'But... not just that; yourself, your own experiences... those letters of yours. Almost as if you were feeding it. Now there's a macabre thought.'

And he wonders, he does, where that power comes from. Is it drawn from the attentions of poor fools like Johnny, latching on and sucking them dry, or is it intrinsical to the thing itself? Though where the borders of the thing end is unclear.

Johnny may be unwilling to meet his eyes yet, but Doctor Unthank's snap up out of his thoughts to find them regardless, forceful and penetrating; Johnny will look when he's ready. 'Tell me what it did to you.'