The Third Skull
Book One - The Discovery
A Paranormal Mystery Thriller
By Andrew M Stafford
Text Copyright © 2016 Andrew M Stafford
All Rights Reserved
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Thank you to
DC Rob Callaway (Retired)
Beta Readers - Nigel Burrough, Claire Herbert, Sharon Newton and Philip Newton
Penny Rowe for proofreading
Ian CP Irvine for his advice and encouragement
For Kerry, Olivia, Sam, Mum and Sharon.
Especially for Dad.
Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Book One - The Discovery, and carries on seamlessly and concludes with Book Two - The Revelation.
Alternatively, you have the option to purchase an omnibus edition containing both Book One and Book two, which readers are recommended to purchase.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
A Message from the Author
Other Books by Andrew M Stafford
Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Book One - The Discovery, and carries on seamlessly and concludes with Book Two - The Revelation.
Alternatively, you have the option to purchase an omnibus edition containing both Book One and Book two, which readers are recommended to purchase.
Chapter 1
December 14th 1804
James Whitcombe’s Field
Bristol
Alice Donaldson ran for her life, not only hers, but also the lives of Louisa and William Drake. The frozen ground cut through the soles of her cloth shoes and the sub-zero air of the winter afternoon burned her lungs as she gasped for breath. She mustn’t stop, the dogs weren’t far away.
The sun had almost set, giving her the upper hand over her pursuers. She knew James Whitcombe’s farmland well and had played there as a child with her two brothers.
She struggled with the wooden handcart which bumped and rattled over the uneven field. If the children had been conscious they would be crying at the top of their voices as the cart jarred their bones whilst Alice navigated ruts and gullies.
The last time Alice had been here she had been eleven years old, and those had been happier times. Ten years had passed, and she hoped the small stone hut at the far end of the field would still be there. She needed somewhere to rest whilst she caught her breath and waited for the stitch to subside. The building would allow her a few minutes to recover and hide with the children from the approaching hounds. Their howling and barking was getting louder as they grew closer.
She staggered over the rise and the stone hut came into view, silhouetted by the setting sun casting a long shadow towards her. Adrenalin fuelled her as she made the two hundred yard dash to the dilapidated building as the children’s limp bodies crashed from side to side. The pain in her chest was excruciating as she stumbled the final steps to the hut and pushed open the half rotten wooden door. Alice bundled the children in and laid them on the rough floor. She fought with the rusty hinges and closed the door.
She sat in silence and heard nothing but her pounding heart and the approaching hunt dogs. Alice prayed for a miracle that they wouldn’t follow her scent to the hut. Her prayer was answered, the sound of the wailing hounds passed alongside the building, followed by a stampede of hooves and roar of angry voices. The dogs and the riders carried on to the west and away from James Whitcombe’s field. Alice’s breathing slowed and her heartbeat settled as she took a moment to compose herself. She pulled back a curtain covering the dirty window and watched the shady images of the riders disappear from view.
She turned her attention to the children who lay motionless on the floor. Alice struggled to see in the dimming light of the winter afternoon. As her eyes became accustomed to her surroundings she spotted tools and implements hanging from the wall. A length of rope hung from a hook on a wooden beam. Alice noticed a small shelf on which stood an oil lamp. After several attempts she coaxed a flame from the stubby wick, and the wavering flicker formed shadows that danced around the walls and the ceiling.
She turned to Louisa, the weakest of the siblings, and put her ear to her mouth to check whether the little girl was breathing. Nothing. Her limp body was warm and Alice searched for signs of life. She held the girl’s body and cried. She woefully looked at William who lay beside her on the floor. Alice knew by the way his body slumped on the hard stone ground that he too was dead.
Hours of trekking through the countryside on a freezing December day dressed in their nightclothes and morning gowns had been more than their young bodies could endure and the final hour of being jostled and thrown around on the stolen handcart like rag dolls had been the final straw that had ended their young lives.
She lifted William from the floor, and held both children in her arms. Her tears flowed. She sobbed to herself, conscious she should not be heard, even at this time of overwhelming grief. Alice pulled the children closer as her tears rolled down her face and into their hair. After a few minutes she lay both children down, this time making them comfortable by resting them on straw which Alice found bundled in the corner. Even though they were dead she wanted them to lie as if they were sleeping.
Alice needed to think, and she needed to think fast. The children may be dead, but the secret they held must be kept from those from whom she was hiding them. They were as valuable in death as they’d been in life. She bent forward and ran her hand through William’s thick blonde hair. Even in the dim light and through the fullness of his shock she could just make out the strange pattern embedded in the back of his head. She turned to Louisa, whose thicker and longer hair concealed her pattern. And even though it wasn’t visible, Alice knew it was there.
Alice needed to find somewhere to lay the children to rest, and somewhere their remains could never be found. She sat with her back against the wall and concentrated, trying her hardest to block out the bodies on the floor. She remembered the dry well she used to throw stones into as a child. But where was it? In the past ten years her memory of the farmland was good, but not that good. She recalled the hawthorn tree that stood nearby. If she was able find the tree, then she could find the well. In their youth, Alice and her brothers climbed the tree countless times. She closed her eyes and recalled eve
ry bough and foot holding it offered. Alice grabbed the lamp, stood up and pulled her woollen shawl around her shoulders to keep away the biting cold. Outside, she saw how dark the field had become since the sun had set and that the low moon cast a faint light. The well wasn’t far from James Whitcombe’s dwelling which was a good country mile to the south. She made her way towards the farmhouse and hoped that her instinct and sense of direction would serve her well. She picked up pace and ignored the painful shards of stone beneath her feet. The lights of the farm came into view. It was hard to judge how far away they were, but she knew the well and the tree must be close.
With her heart in her mouth she ran towards the pale light of the farmhouse. The oil lamp offered a little glow as it swung in her hand, but not enough light for her to avoid a small gully underfoot. She lost her balance and fell upon the frozen soil. Alice rolled onto her back and cursed at the pain in her ankle.
“Please God, please help me,” she muttered and lay on her back looking up at the black sky. The stars appeared like teardrops, looking upon her as if they were judging her. She rolled onto her side, reached for her ankle and rubbed the painful joint. She looked across the field and was drawn to the waxing moon low in the west. And then she saw it.
Silhouetted against the moon was the tree. The hawthorn tree she had climbed as a child. She recognised it instantly. After ten years of growth it looked the same. Alice limped towards it. She could make out spiny branches which looked like skeletal fingers pointing at her accusingly. She stopped for a breath and looked around to survey the field for the wall which surrounded the well. She strained her eyes in the darkness and with only the fading glow of the lamp Alice spotted it. She hobbled towards the small wall, not stopping until she had reached it. Alice placed the lamp atop the dry stone wall. She looked over and expected to see the metal grille covering the well head but she was taken aback to see nothing but soil and scrubby grass.
The thing’s been covered over she thought to herself.
She climbed over the wall, lowered herself down and scraped at the soil. Frozen shards of stone pained her fingertips like paper cuts. After what felt like an eternity Alice had cleared enough soil to expose a timber beam. “Yes,” she whispered and continued to scrape and scratch at the soil to expose more of the wood. She stopped to catch her breath, put the lamp on the ground and surveyed her work. “I’m getting nowhere fast,” she exclaimed under her breath when she saw how little of the wood covering the well head had been uncovered. She got up and limped back to the building where the children lay.
She made her way back and thought about the events of the day.
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The children awoke excitedly on their fifth birthday. Both had been expecting to be greeted by their father on their special day. But instead they saw Alice scurry into their room insisting they went with her and ask no questions. She’d told them they had to leave, and they had to leave straight away, with no time to dress or for breakfast. They were scared but believed Alice when she told them they couldn’t say a word and to come with her. They trusted her as she was the closest thing they’d had to a mother. Alice laced their boots, opened the door and fled the house holding the arm of each child as they tried to keep up with her.
“I’m cold,” called Louisa.
“We mustn’t stop,” said Alice.
“What’s happening, where are we going?” sobbed William.
“Please children, please keep moving. You need to trust me, I’ll try to explain later.”
It hadn’t taken long for Alexander Drake to discover that the children were not in their beds and were nowhere to be found. He’d called for Alice, the girl who he’d employed for the past two years, but she’d also gone. After searching his grounds and outbuildings he mounted his horse and explored the surrounding area.
Drake cursed under his breath as he rode to the village. It was half past seven and morning was teetering on the edge of daylight. Condensation bellowed from his horse’s mouth as its snorts and whinnies hit the wintery air. After fruitlessly banging on the door of every house he returned and by nine he’d assembled his gang to search for Louisa, William and Alice, the young nanny who he thought he could trust.
Alice and the children had a three hour head start and miraculously stayed ahead of Drake and his marauding gang.
It had been eleven hours since Alice left the house and now the children were dead. But if Alexander had got to them before they’d died, their fate in his hands would have resulted in something much worse.
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Alice approached the hut and shuddered when she shone the lamp over the threshold. William and Louisa lay where she had left them. She was anxious that Drake may have found them.
She loaded the bodies onto the cart and went back to the hut. Scanning the dark room as the lamp threw a yellow insipid glow against the wall, she saw a shovel lying in the corner. Alice picked it up along with a length of iron bar that was lying next to it and tossed them out into the field. She heard the dull thud as they landed on the frozen ground. She grabbed the rope hanging from the wooden beam and looped it over her shoulder. She limped to the cart, threw in the shovel, bar and rope then made her way back to the well.
Within ten minutes she was at the well and went to work clearing the soil. Her hands were blistering as she scraped and dug the gritty earth. Soon, the timber plank covering the well head was exposed. She fell to her knees and scratched at the corner of the wood and struggled to lift it. Alice snatched the iron bar and used it to prise the plank. It was heavier than it looked and she cursed as she grappled with it, attempting to move it away from the well head. After several minutes the lump of wood was away from the entrance to the well and Alice propped it up against the wall. The lamp was fading, but was casting enough light for her see the well head was covered by the same iron grille which prevented inquisitive children and stray animals from falling into the shallow cavity when she was a girl. She used the iron bar to lever the grille from where it had lain for as long as she could remember. She hauled it onto its side and propped it against the wall alongside the plank.
Alice stopped to catch her breath. The temperature was below zero and she ignored the cold and pain from her cut and blistered hands as adrenaline charged blood raced through her veins.
She turned to the cart behind the wall and hung the lamp over the bodies. She picked up Louisa and held her close.
“I’m so sorry my darling,” she whispered and hugged the little girl’s body. “I am so, so sorry.”
Gently holding Louisa in her arms, as if she was taking her to her room to place her in her bed, she carried the dead child over the wall and lay her next to the well. She took the rope and formed a loop at one end. Alice passed the looped end of the rope over Louisa’s head and shoulders so the rope was under the girl’s armpits. After pulling the rope tight around Louisa’s chest, she bent forward and kissed her on her cheek and stroked her hair. “Please forgive me God,” she whispered as she touched the girl’s face.
She hauled Louisa to the well and lowered her, feet first, into the abyss. The lamp didn't cast enough light to show the depth of the well, but Alice knew it was no more than a fifteen foot drop. She remembered stories of children who had climbed into the well for a dare. The well had been a hiding place for children who’d run away from home, only to be found by James Whitcombe, who eventually covered it with the grille.
The rope juddered and Louisa’s body jerked against the rocky shaft as Alice lowered her in. It slackened when Louisa came to rest at the bottom. Alice tied a loop in the other end of the rope and placed it around William. She had little time for farewells because Alexander Drake and his gang were likely to return at any moment. She kissed him on his head and lowered him alongside his sister. Wiping her dirty arm across her brow she looked into the dark hole and said two quiet prayers. One for the children and one for herself, again asking God for forgiveness.
Alice replaced th
e iron grille, hauled the heavy plank back into position and shovelled the soil over the wood and then pushed the hand cart back to the hut.
Alice returned to the building and fell to the floor. She was exhausted, scared and grief stricken but knew she’d done the right thing. Her muscles ached and her limbs hurt. The lamp faded and tiredness enveloped her as she sobbed until she fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 2
Alice awoke to the sound of voices and whining dogs. She sat up and remembered where she was. The lamp had burnt out and inside the hut it was too dark to see. Light danced like fireflies between the cracks in the door as outside, a crowd of angry men jostled and shouted. Fear gripped her as the door flung open. Covering her eyes with the back of her hand to shield them from the bright lamps she shuffled backwards towards the wall.
“She’s in here, tell Drake we’ve found her,” shouted a short man holding a burning torch. A commotion ensued as the men hollered and jostled. A tall man pushed his way to the front and stood in the doorway. His eyes took a few seconds to adapt to the darkness, and when they did he saw Alice cowering in the corner. He stooped his tall frame as he entered.
“Hello Alice, I’ve been looking for you…….. what have you done with my children?”
Alice said nothing. Her mouth was dry, and she trembled with fear. The clean shaven, dark-haired man knelt beside her and in a calm voice asked her again. “Alice, I need to know what you’ve done with William and Louisa. Please tell me where they are.”
Alice felt weak and pathetic, but was determined not to be intimidated.
“They’re not your children,” replied Alice. Her voice wavering but confident.
He moved closer and put his mouth to Alice’s ear. She could smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his breath against her face. Across his cheek was a scar which marred his handsome face.
“I will ask you one more time, so think before you answer. Where are they?”
The Third Skull (Book one - The Discovery): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller Page 1
