The Third Skull (Book Two - The Revelation): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller

by Andrew Stafford

  “Spirits, ghosts, like myself and Elizabeth. But unlike Elizabeth and me, they are fuelled by pure evil.”

  “Do these spirits have names?”

  “Rupert Snow, Albert Cromwell……..”

  The first two names meant nothing. Hermione continued.

  “……. Alexander Drake and Joseph Morris.”

  “There’s four of them? I thought I was only up against Drake and Morris.”

  “Drake and Morris are the two who walk amongst the living. Snow exists, but he’s not of this world and Cromwell, well Cromwell is the most evil of the four and he is the lynchpin which holds their evil plan together. Without him, the others have no power.”

  Heather was more confused than before. It seemed the task set for her was insurmountable. How was she ever going to stop such wicked souls from carrying out their evil work?

  “So I have to stop Cromwell and protect Charles?”

  “I don’t think anyone or anything will stop Cromwell, he’s too powerful. But he needs Morris to resurrect him.”

  Her mind swirled as she tried to keep up.

  “But why does your grandfather need protecting?”

  “He has something they need. He holds a secret.”

  “But he’s dead, why can’t Drake or Morris get what they want from him in the afterlife, or wherever you go?” pleaded Heather.

  “Please make sure they don’t get him.”

  Hermione’s image became hazy.

  “By any way you can,” she added.

  Heather ran towards Hermione to stop her from disappearing, but recoiled when she came into contact with the space in which the fading image occupied. The heat was like an oven.

  Hermione had gone. All that remained in her wake was the buzz of static, the familiar smell of ozone and the fading heat of her aura.

  Heather was more despondent than ever. She had been so close to getting the answers.

  It was definitely Drake and Morris from whom Nash needed protection. But what did the malevolent ghouls want from him?

  In two days’ time, Heather would find out.

  Chapter 71

  Joseph Morris poured over the well-thumbed copy of George Elliott’s Middlemarch. He’d been reading it yearly since his fourth incarnation.

  In the mid-nineteenth century, Morris had taken over the body of Bristolian shopkeeper Alistair Grant. One night in eighteen seventy four, he’d woken after a vivid dream where Azazel, the King of Devils, had spoken to him.

  ‘Morris, if you want to find out what happened to that brat Mathias, then the answer is in the seven hundred and forty third hour of the third month.’

  Morris had been certain that Azazel had spoken with him and spent over a year pondering what the message had meant. He was sure the message from Azazel wasn’t a dream, but was a clue which would lead him to the remains of Mathias, and he would never forget the date he’d received it. As far as Morris was concerned, Azazel had contacted him. It plagued him constantly and each day he tried to understand what it could mean.

  The following year a friend introduced him to Elliot’s book. He turned to the inside cover and saw that the date of publication happened to be the same day he’d heard from Azazel.

  The seven hundred and forty third hour of the third month could only mean the middle of March. Middlemarch. He’d read the book repeatedly for one hundred and thirty years and would not give up until the book told him where to find the bones of Mathias.

  Morris made thousands of notes with scribbled ideas, based upon what he thought may have been clues to where he would find the boy. There were hundreds of different permutations of calculations he’d worked out based upon page and chapter numbers. He’d read pages and cross referenced them with other pages hoping to find a cypher within the text of the story. The clues he thought he’d discovered had led him up and down the UK, around most of Europe and North America. Over the years he’d desecrated the graves of hundreds of young children hoping to find Mathias.

  And now, two days before the ritual, he was nowhere nearer finding the answer.

  He lay on the settee in Finn’s house, dropped the book to the floor and let out a despondent sigh. He could hear Drake in the kitchen back filling the hole.

  Morris wondered whether the last two hundred years had been a complete waste of time. Maybe the boy’s body had disappeared a long time ago and his remains turned to dust. Morris felt downcast. The work to find William and Louisa had paid off, so why should it be so difficult to find Mathias?

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  Drake adopted William and Louisa, and Morris took charge of Mathias minutes after the children were born. After which, he and Drake killed their mother and dumped her body in a shallow grave. Nobody missed the homeless woman who yielded the three children which carried the lifeblood of the Devil.

  The children were innocent vessels of evil.

  In their five short years, Drake and Morris ensured the children had everything they wanted. A good home, food, toys and in William and Louisa’s circumstances, the love of Alice Donaldson, whom they’d considered the closest person to a mother.

  Neither William nor Louisa had met, nor known of Mathias. Since their birth, Morris and Drake needed to make sure the three would never occupy the same space, until they were ready to be sacrificed as an offering to Azazel.

  Even though the children died over two centuries ago, the secret they held was as important now as it was when they were alive.

  Morris and Drake, along with Rupert Snow and Albert Cromwell were pure evil and had no reservations about their intentions.

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  Morris considered his situation. Two days until the offering and he was desperate.

  He stood up and walked over to Finn’s printer in the corner of the lounge. There were several copies of the third archetypon which lay in a neat pile. Morris picked up a sheet of A4 and looked at the pattern which Finn produced subconsciously under the guidance of Azazel. Morris held it up to the light and ran his fingers over the strange pagan like form.

  “If Mathias wasn’t out there somewhere, then why would Azazel have given me this?” said Morris under his breath.

  He lit a Carlito Fuente and strolled into the kitchen.

  Drake was feverishly back filling the hole. He stopped when he saw Morris enter the kitchen.

  “Has your book told you where to dig?” asked Drake in a patronising tone.

  Morris shook his head and examined the archetypon.

  “I thought not,” grunted Drake.

  Together with finding Mathias, something else urgently needed Morris’ attention. The ritual not only required the three skulls, it also needed Albert Cromwell who was key to the success of the sacrament.

  Morris exhaled, picked up the phone and made arrangements to bring Cromwell back from the dead.

  Chapter 72

  “That was Butler wasn’t it?” asked Linda with a stern look.

  Kieran sat down, placed the phone on the table and looked at his wife awkwardly.

  “It was, but he sounded different.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, it was him, but he sounded……… different.”

  “What did he want?” snapped Linda.

  “He rang with details of where and when to meet.”

  “But I told you to say ‘no’.”

  “Listen Linda,” barked Kieran, “Gabriel Butler is a powerful and persuasive man, and he’s someone to whom you don’t say ‘no’."

  Linda huffed air through her cheeks.

  “I just don’t trust the man. Did he tell you what you’re supposed to do?”

  “No, he only said I need to be at his mansion on the fourteenth at five o'clock.”

  “The fourteenth of December? You're aware what happened on that date two years ago aren't you?”

  Kieran nodded.

  “It’s the second anniversary of Buxton’s suicide,” he replied sheepis
hly.

  Linda stood with her arms folded and a look on her face which made Kieran shudder.

  “Kieran, you’re a fucking fool. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you don’t go or else you'll end up dead. Butler’s evil and whatever he’s got in store, you’re his whipping boy and he’s using you. You’re doing this for the money, but I’m sure you won’t be around by the end of the night to see a penny of what he’s promising.”

  “Listen to yourself, what’s got into you? Don’t be so stupid. Never doubt the man and his promises. He’s wealthy and has paid for this,” said Kieran in a raised voice waving his hands around the room.

  “He gave you a shitload of money for twenty years of obligation. You watched that house in Whitcombe Fields Road and told him of the ins and outs of what happened there dutifully without a break. Now he reckons he’ll give you almost the same amount of cash for one evening’s work. It doesn’t make sense!”

  “I’m going, and that’s the end of it. You can do whatever you want, but you’re not stopping me.”

  -------------------------------------------

  Linda’s opinion of Butler had changed. When she and her husband first met him, she considered him an eccentric billionaire who had a strange interest in the house across the road. They got to know him, and although he could be peculiar, they liked him.

  As time went on, Butler asked more questions of the comings and goings in 11a and many of his questions were strange. By the time Finn Maynard and his family moved in, he had Kieran reporting on what was happening there almost daily.

  She’d put up with his unusual requests because of his promise of a huge ‘thank you’, of one and three quarter million pounds. He was true to his word and paid the inordinate sum as soon as Finn told Kieran he’d been on the train which killed Robert Buxton, and he’d seen the body. This is what Butler needed to know and had been specific about when he’d told Kieran that Finn Maynard must tell him of Robert Buxton’s suicide of his own will. Kieran mustn’t have coaxed the information out of him.

  Neither Linda nor Kieran understood why Butler’s demands were so specific. They didn't know that each adult male who lived at 11a Whitcombe Fields Road ended up there for a reason. And that reason was to confirm the whereabouts of the remains of William and Louisa, and to also work out the pattern of third archetypon, which would aid Butler in finding the body of Mathias Morris.

  Shaun Morrison, who had been the first to have been lured to live in the house by Butler proved to be useless, even though Azazel assured Butler that he’d been the one. David Gosling was next to live there. Again, he’d been unable to provide the information Butler needed. His suicide happened in a car purchased from Robert Buxton, who was next to live in 11a. Buxton had been so close to confirming where the bodies of William and Louisa lay, after he subconsciously worked out the archetypa which matched their skulls. But he’d not been able to work out the third archetypon, which matched Mathias’. Madness set in and he’d hurled himself in front of the train which carried Finn home from the meeting in Cardiff that fateful day in December two thousand and four. Finn was next to move in and when he’d successfully, under the guidance of Azazel, worked out third archetypon, he’d proved to Butler that he was most definitely the ‘chosen one’.

  Linda and Kieran didn't understand why Butler had such an interest in what went on in that house, and neither of them particularly cared as the lure of the money he’d promised outweighed whatever plans the odd billionaire had in mind.

  But Linda’s attitude towards Butler had altered. Now she viewed him as a wicked malevolent man who was planning something evil. She could pinpoint exactly when her attitude changed.

  It had changed since she’d gained the mysterious stone head.

  Chapter 73

  “So what do you suggest we do?” asked Sophie.

  “I’ve no idea,” replied Heather shrugging her shoulders.

  She turned and looked at the darkness of the evening sky from the bedroom window.

  “I can't say what Drake and Morris want with Charles Nash, but I know when he needs my protection.”

  Sophie walked over to the window and stood next to her sister.

  “The fourteenth of December by any chance?” asked Sophie.

  Heather nodded.

  “This started the day Finn discovered Robert Buxton’s head on the railway line.”

  Sophie nodded, took her sister’s hand and squeezed it.

  “A year later Buxton’s ghost was in Rosie's room, and ever since then these hideous things have been happening to my Finn.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Heather, do you think I’ll ever get him back?”

  Heather held onto her hand and nodded.

  “I’m sure we will.”

  Sophie knew her sister wasn’t speaking the truth and was as unsure of what was happening as she was.

  She cleared her throat and let go of Heather’s hand.

  “Well, I guess there’s only one thing we can do,” said Sophie.

  Heather looked from the window and turned to her sister.

  “We’ll go to Nash’s grave on the fourteenth and wait.”

  “And what if Morris and Drake turn up, there’s no way the two of us can stop them, you saw what Morris did to Hugh and Mark,” said Heather nervously.

  “Wasn’t that Butler?”

  “I’ve said before, they’re one and the same.”

  They spent the next hour working on their plan, but ultimately realised they didn’t have one, other than waiting at the grave. They had no idea when Butler and Drake would arrive, so they agreed that they should be at the church of St Michael on the Mount Without at the stroke of midnight and wait until something happened.

  “Maybe we should bring dad with us?” said Sophie.

  “No, we mustn’t tell mum and dad what’s happening. We need to keep this to ourselves. Anyway, what’s the point? If Mark and Hugh couldn’t help us I can’t see what good dad would be.”

  Sophie nodded dejectedly.

  “There's someone I’d like to have had with us,” added Heather.

  “Who?” said Sophie as she looked towards her sister curiously.

  “Charlie,” said Heather with a pained expression.

  “I wish Charlie could be with us. He’d tell me what to do.”

  Chapter 74

  Morris watched Drake replace the last floorboard after spending the day back-filling the hole.

  He placed the spade and the pickaxe in the hall and blew out a long sigh.

  Drake was filthy, his hands blistered, and he hadn’t been near a sink in days.

  “Put those tools in the back of my car then tidy yourself up,” said Morris.

  Drake’s body ached, but mentally he was as sharp as a tack. The ritual was less than twenty-four hours away and there was plenty to do. Not to mention the small matter of finding Mathias.

  Drake clumped down the stairs after having a quick wash and a change of clothes. He still looked a mess. His hair was unkempt, and he needed a shave.

  Morris tutted.

  “That’ll do, but make sure you smarten yourself up for tomorrow.”

  Drake ignored his comment and Morris slipped the copy of the third archetypon in a brown envelope and placed it in his pocket.

  “We need to get over to the mansion and prepare the basement for tomorrow evening,” said Morris.

  “Joseph, is there any point? Unless you find Mathias, what we've achieved is futile. And what’s happening with Cromwell? Even if you find Mathias, we need Albert.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with Cromwell, I’ve taken care of things. Don’t worry about Rupert Snow either, he’s at the mansion.”

  Drake couldn’t understand why Morris appeared so calm. But despite appearing composed on the outside, Morris was a bundle of nerves. He didn't know where to find Mathias. He’d torn up Middlemarch and scattered the pages over the floor in anger after wasting over one hundred and thirty years readin
g the wretched thing. Morris had been searching for clues that just weren’t there. He’d given in to the notion that Azazel hadn’t spoken to him, and what happened that night way back in eighteen seventy four was nothing more than a dream which he’d interpreted as the word of the Devil.

  “The seven hundred and forty third hour of the third month,” muttered Morris.

  With less than a day until the ceremony, Morris craved Demonic intervention. Fortunately for him, he wouldn’t need to wait very much longer.

  “Alexander, get the skulls from the kitchen and let’s get out of here,” said Morris.

  “What about that thing?” said Drake pointing to Rosie’s bear he’d found with the skeletons.

  “Don’t you get near that thing, I’ll take it and destroy it,” said Morris scooping it from the kitchen table and ramming it into his pocket.

  The two men got into the Rolls Royce, left Whitcombe Fields Road and made their way to the mansion where Drake had lived in the nineteenth century. The same building in which Morris, under the façade of billionaire Gabriel Butler, had lived for the past fifty years.

  The black Silver Cloud turned the corner and headed towards the gates. Drake smiled when he saw the frail man in the black overcoat standing on the pavement.

  “It’s Snow,” said Drake breathlessly, “he’s here.”

  Rupert Snow waved as the car pulled up to the gates. He walked over to Drake’s side and waited as he lowered the window.

  “Rupert my dear friend. How are you? I’ve not seen you in centuries.”

  Snow smiled and glimpsed the ring he’d given Finn in the antique shop last year.

  “I’m absolutely fine Alexander. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  “Okay, okay, there’ll be time to catch up later, but right now there are preparations to be made,” said Morris interrupting the two old friends.