The Third Skull (Book one - The Discovery): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller

by Andrew Stafford

  Alice looked him in the eye as she summoned her mental strength to not be overpowered by his intimidation.

  “I won’t tell you. They’re somewhere you’ll never know. I may be young, but I’m not stupid. I know your secret and I know you’re not their father.”

  “You know nothing!” he shouted as he rose to his feet. Drake stood over her and pushed loose strands of long dark hair away from his eyes, exposing the streak of grey which flashed across his temple.

  “I know enough. And I've made sure you'll never see the children again.”

  Drake’s temper got the better of him and he slapped her face with a leather riding glove. She flinched as the leather struck her skin. He grabbed her by her jaw, his strong hand squeezing as his nails dug into the sides of her face. He had no hesitation when it came to inflicting pain, but could tell by her air of confidence she wouldn't tell him what he needed to hear.

  “Very well,” said Drake. His calm voice returned and he released his grip from her face. She slumped back against the straw and saw the gold ring on his middle finger shimmering in the flame of the torch. She recognised the circular symbols etched onto the face of the ring. The same symbols she’d seen the evening before on the blue velvet cloth which adorned the circular table in the basement of Drake’s home. Drake, and three other men who she didn’t recognise, had sat around the table. On the table were two strange ornate wooden boxes. On the top of each box was a blue cushion. Both cushions had a pentagram etched on them. Alice had overheard their conversation and couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She would have taken the children that night, but knew Drake would hear the commotion. She needed to wait until morning before he was awake.

  Drake stood up, turned and walked towards the door.

  The short man stood on the threshold with the burning torch in his hand.

  “She's not going to talk,” said Drake. “Mr. Morris, do your worst.”

  Drake walked away from the building to the sound of muffled screams as Joseph Morris kicked the defenceless but brave young girl. He grabbed an oil lamp hanging from the beam and smashed it to the ground beside her. Oil splashed across the floor and onto Alice’s clothes. Morris looked upon her with a remorseless expression as he held the flaming torch.

  “You should have told Mr. Drake where his children are,” grunted Morris as the flame cast an orange glow upon his scarred and pitted face, casting shadows which made him look as if he was a gargoyle. Morris had more tattoos than teeth. The tattoos on his face were a throwback from his days working as a seaman.

  Alice looked up at him and with a defiant stare she whispered her last words. “They’re not his children.”

  Morris dropped the torch and took two steps back as the oil ignited and flames raced towards the helpless girl. Her skirt was an instant fireball as she writhed and screamed in agony. Her skin blistered as the flames engulfed her. Morris smiled and shielded his face from the heat. He took delight in watching Alice’s thrashing body as she became consumed by the inferno. Within minutes she had succumbed to the flames and her cadaver crackled and hissed as the heat intensified.

  Morris stepped outside and shivered as the icy night air hit him. Drake leant against the handcart and smoked his briar wood pipe.

  “It is done,” growled Morris and pulled his coat around him. He considered stepping back into the hut to warm himself by the flames which engulfed the building.

  “Good work Joseph, let's go. There are things to be done.”

  “But the children? How are we going to succeed without them?”

  “Don’t worry Joseph, that’s something which shouldn't concern you right now. I am prepared to wait as long as it takes. Patience, Mr. Morris, is a virtue. And patience is a quality I am lucky to have."

  The caw of a raven could be heard as it soared high above the flames.

  The two men climbed onto their horses and galloped towards the rest of the gang who watched from a distance with the dogs. After speaking with his men, Drake ordered them to go their separate ways and told Morris to get back to his boy, Mathias.

  The thud of heavy hooves against the frozen ground disappeared into the night as the burning hut cast an eerie glow across the field.

  Chapter 3

  Two hundred years later

  December 14th 2004

  Finn Maynard woke to the niggling sound of his ring tone. It was a missed call from Sophie. Finn put the phone back in his pocket and gazed through the window. He thought of his wife and young daughter as he watched low cloud smudge the distant trees.

  He fought to stay awake as the hypnotic lull of the train did its best to lure him back to sleep.

  The day had been uneventful. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at Sally who looked as bored as he felt. He’d only agreed to attend the meeting as it meant a day away from the office and now he wished he’d stayed in Bristol. As far as work was concerned he wasn’t an ambitious man. He did what he had to do to make sure he could provide for his family. His wife and daughter were his universe.

  Fifteen minutes later the train slowed as it neared Temple Meads, but it was still travelling at a fair pace as it approached Stapleton Road Station. He rubbed his eyes again.

  With no warning he jolted forward, banging his knees into the low table in front of him. A woman screamed as she fell in the walkway. The grinding of the wheels against the tracks whined like giant fingernails scraping along a blackboard. Sally swore as coffee spilled over her skirt.

  The train shuddered to a standstill and for a few seconds no one spoke.

  A guard ran along the platform followed by the driver. Doors opened and passengers stepped from the train to see what had happened. Finn stood up and offered his hand to the fallen woman as she struggled to her feet.

  “What happened?” asked Sally.

  Finn didn't reply. He hurried along the carriage, ignoring the dull pain in his knees. The door was open, and he looked along the platform before getting out. A crowd had gathered and were looking at something beneath the train. The guard was doing his best at ushering them away, but no one moved.

  Finn stepped onto the platform and made his way towards the crowd. He knew why the train had stopped, but morbid curiosity was getting the better of him. He’d not seen a dead person before and wasn’t sure if he wanted to, but something within was urging him to take a look.

  A headless body lay beneath the train. Finn turned away and noticed a blood soaked paper bag further along the track behind the train. Holding his hand over his mouth he walked towards it. Behind him was an older man walking with a stick. The man with the stick stopped at the edge of the platform and looked at the bag and then glanced at Finn. The man looked at Finn as if he was seeking approval for what he was going to do. Finn said nothing. The man knelt down and prodded the bag with his stick. The blood sodden bag ripped, revealing the head of an old man. One eye stared at Finn with a look which held pained secrets of generations. He was transfixed by what he saw. The eye looked at Finn as if it knew he'd be there to witness the suicide. Finn felt as if the whole thing had been staged just for him. The man with the walking stick turned away shaking his head, leaving Finn alone to gawp at the gruesome find.

  The sound of sirens filled the air and broke the unnerving silence. Other than the guard, no one had spoken. The small crowd and the driver had been shocked into an uneasy hush.

  Half an hour later Finn and the rest of the passengers were talking with police and providing statements.

  First Great Western arranged for a bus to take the shocked passengers to Temple Meads Station. Finn sat next to Sally, and she noticed how pale he looked. He gripped her hand. When the bus arrived at the station the tired passengers were met by an official and after a brief talk they were allowed home.

  Finn stood in the taxi queue with his laptop slung over his shoulder.

  “I can drive you home if you like,” offered Sally with a faint smile.

  Finn didn’t relish the thought of making small talk with a t
axi driver and took her up on her offer. She had remained on the train and hadn’t seen the man’s body. Although she had been shaken by what happened, she wasn’t as affected as Finn.

  They walked to her car in the station car park and soon she was driving him home. The memory of the dead man's head plagued Finn as he watched the cars inch along the rush hour traffic.

  “Why don’t you call Sophie?” suggested Sally.

  Finn didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the traffic and was mesmerised by the tail lights ahead.

  Sally turned into Finn's road and spotted Sophie on the pavement wedging a black bag into the rubbish bin. She parked the car, lowered the window and was going to speak, but Sophie spoke first.

  “Sally, what are you doing here? Is everything OK?”

  Sally put on the interior light and Sophie saw Finn sitting alongside her.

  “Finn's shaken, we've had a crappy journey.”

  He opened the door and got out. Sophie could tell by his pained expression that things weren't good.

  He walked to the flat, leaving Sally and Sophie outside.

  “He's had a shock, well we both have, but it's affected Finn more than me.”

  Sophie looked at Sally without speaking.

  “There was an incident. A man jumped in front of our train at Stapleton Road. He was decapitated.”

  Sophie covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Finn saw everything. He's the one who found the head, it was about twenty yards from the body.”

  Sophie shuddered.

  “Are you OK, do you want a stiff drink to calm your nerves?” asked Sophie.

  “No, I'll be fine, I'd best be on my way, it’s my son’s birthday and I’m in a rush. I stayed on the carriage, so Finn's the one who needs a drink. A large scotch should do the trick.”

  Sophie hugged her and thanked her for bringing her husband home.

  “I won't be surprised if he doesn't make it in tomorrow,” said Sally as she walked to her car.

  “Tomorrow's Saturday, thank God.”

  “Yeah, sorry, of course. Tell him I'll catch up with him in the office on Monday.”

  Sophie waved her off as she disappeared from view.

  Finn was in the lounge. His coat was wrapped around his large frame and his scarf was around his neck. Sophie sat beside him and held his hand.

  “Sally’s told me what happened.”

  Finn didn't answer. He had become fixated by a cobweb swaying in the corner.

  Sophie said nothing. She didn't know what to say. She took Sally's advice and poured him a scotch. He took the glass but didn't drink. Instead he held it in his shaking hand.

  She’d seen him like this once before. The day he’d been told that his best friend Mark had been killed in a climbing accident. But this was different. When Mark died Finn had mixed emotions of utter shock and sadness. But now Sophie could sense something else. Mark’s death effected both Finn and Sophie because he’d dated Sophie’s sister Heather a few weeks before the accident.

  She was going to speak but was interrupted by their daughter calling from her bedroom.

  “Mummy, is daddy home?”

  Sophie walked to Rosie’s room, turned up the light and closed the door.

  “Daddy’s home, but he’s a bit tired…….. so I think it’s best he doesn’t tell you a story tonight.”

  “But he promised.”

  “I know, he did. Be a good girl and I promise he’ll read you a really super one tomorrow.”

  The three year old slumped on her pillow and looked miserable. Sophie kissed her on her head and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “Get to sleep now. I need to see Daddy.”

  Sophie closed the door and returned to the lounge. Finn hadn’t moved, but he’d drank the scotch. And then he spoke.

  “It was horrible.”

  He placed his glass on the table next to him, and rubbed his face. Sophie knelt beside him and looked into his eyes.

  “The whole thing was…….,” his quiet voice trailed off without finishing.

  “Rosie wanted to see you, I told her you were too tired to read her a story.”

  He looked at her and for the first time since Sally brought him home she detected a faint glimmer of the man she’d married.

  “No, I’ll go and see her. It will do me good.”

  He went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. She threw her arms around him.

  “Daddy, Daddy.”

  He held her and nuzzled his face into her hair.

  “Daddy, ouch! You’re squeezing me.”

  He let go, and she sat next to him.

  “I’m sorry Rosie. I’ve missed you and needed a big hug.”

  She kissed him on his face. He tucked her in, and went back to the lounge.

  Sophie waited in the lounge.

  “Do you want to talk?” asked Sophie as she undid the buttons on his coat.

  He nodded. “And I could do with another drink.”

  Sophie draped his coat over the back of a chair and poured another scotch.

  “He was staring at me,” said Finn in his softly spoken voice as he blankly gazed ahead. “One eye was looking right at me.”

  He paused for a sip of scotch, grimacing as he gulped it too fast.

  “I know it sounds stupid Sophie, but it was as if he knew me, as if he was waiting for me to find him……. and the expression on his face…….. I'm sure he had a message for me.”

  Sophie had been desperate to see her husband. She had been bursting with excitement and couldn’t wait to tell him her news. But now wasn't the right time. The euphoria had been overshadowed by what had happened on the train.

  Or maybe she should tell him. Now might be a good time as it might distract from the horrible event of the day.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Finn looked at her with no expression.

  “Huh, sorry what did you say?”

  “I have some news.”

  “What news?”

  “It’s time we looked for somewhere else to live, somewhere bigger with more bedrooms.”

  She pulled the tester from her pocket and handed it to him.

  “Look what it says,” said Sophie as a smile lit her face.

  Finn was distracted from his thoughts and looked at the positive result on the pregnancy tester.

  “Wow, is this for real?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure, is this thing working properly?”

  She nodded again.

  A rush of colour returned to his face.

  “It’s the third test I’ve done today…. there's absolutely no doubt, I’m pregnant.”

  Finn stood up and threw his arms around her. He held her as the news sank in.

  “This is brilliant news….. have you told anybody else?”

  “No, I wanted to tell you first. I’ll ring mum and dad in the morning.”

  Finn walked towards the hallway, stopped and turned to face her.

  “This really is the best news I could have hoped for.”

  He processed the information. Thoughts of babies pinged around his tired mind as a smile spanned his face. But within minutes his positive thoughts were eclipsed by the bloody head in the paper bag and the staring eye.

  Finn had no way of knowing how the events of the day would affect his future.

  Chapter 4

  “The selfish bastard………… the selfish, selfish bastard,” said Henry Buxton as the news sank in.

  “We need you to identify the body…… but we’re sure it’s your father. He was carrying his driving licence.” said the police officer.

  Henry nodded.

  The officer informed Henry of the circumstances of his father’s suicide, including the head. Henry trembled as he listened.

  “We weren’t very close. Since he moved into that house, we’ve grown apart.”

  Robert Buxton moved into his son’s road three years earlier to be near his family. But since the day h
e set foot in the house he'd changed. He’d become distant and reclusive.

  Henry was sixty-one and his father had been in his early eighties.

  “Did he leave a note?” asked Henry.

  “I understand there's an envelope, but I don’t know of its contents.” replied the officer.

  Henry stood up and put on his coat.

  “Are you sure you can do this?” asked Katherine.

  “I don’t think I have a choice,” he replied as he buttoned his coat.

  “Let me come with you….. please.”

  “No thank you, I’d prefer do this on my own.”

  Katherine squeezed her husband’s hand as he turned to leave their house. She watched from the doorway as the police vehicle turned out of the road with Henry sitting in the rear of the car looking grey and sombre.

  Just over an hour later Henry had identified his father’s body and stood alone in a waiting room.

  The officer entered the room and stood alongside him holding a plastic folder.

  “I knew he was unhappy, even depressed, but I had no idea to what degree,” said Henry in a monotone voice.

  The officer was concerned by Henry’s lack of emotion.

  “You said he'd written a note, may I read it?”

  The officer opened the folder in which was the contents of Robert Buxton’s pockets. He handed him a white envelope and inside were three sheets of white A4 paper. On two of the sheets was a pattern and alongside each was a tick. The other sheet was blank. Each sheet of paper had been numbered in the upper left-hand corner. The two with a pattern and a tick were numbered one and two. The blank paper was numbered three.

  “We expected to find a note in the envelope, but instead we found those,” said the officer pointing to the papers.

  “Is that everything, is there nothing else?” asked Henry.

  The officer shook his head.

  Henry looked at the two patterns. Both were similar, but not the same. They had been drawn by hand in red ink. They reminded him of pagan images he’d seen carved on ancient stones. He glanced at the blank page and turned his attention back to the patterns.