Born ----ber 1- --99
Died September 6 1839
She ran her skeletal fingers over the stone and knew time was drawing to an end. She lay next to the grave and faced the sky.
“This body is of no use now.”
She turned to face the grave.
“Please don’t worry. Soon there will be someone else to watch over and protect you.”
A contented smile spanned her face as the body which had been the repository for her soul for the last ninety one years exhaled its final breath.
Chapter 7
Late July
“Okay, so in which box is the kettle?” asked Finn looking at the stack of packing crates scattered around the lounge of their new home.
Sophie picked up the clipboard and turned over the page.
“K3, you’ll find it in crate K3.”
“I love you,” smiled Finn.
“No, you love tea. You find the kettle and the tea bags, and I’ll get the milk from the cool box.”
Moving into their new home had gone without a hitch. In fact, the whole process of buying their first house had gone well. It had helped that there hadn’t been a property chain and the contract on their flat expired at just the right time.
Sophie was heavily pregnant and the due date was in less than three weeks. Finn had his work cut out for him and had taken two weeks annual leave. Every waking hour of every day would be required to get the house in order.
He sighed, looked at the crates and took a sip of tea. He was lost in thought and visualised what had to go where. Just the thought of lugging everything upstairs, assembling beds and wardrobes was making him weary.
Finn was interrupted by the sound of a screaming child, the thudding of feet and a loud disturbance from upstairs.
“Rosie!” shouted Finn. He jumped up and ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
Her screams became louder and the thump of her footsteps echoed throughout the house.
“Daddy, mummy help!”
“It’s okay Rosie, I’m coming.”
Then everything was quiet.
Finn stopped on the landing. The bedroom and bathroom doors were shut.
"Where are you Rosie?"
"Help me daddy!"
Her voice came from the middle bedroom.
He threw open the door and found his daughter cowering in the corner with her hands over her face. Scattered around the bare floor were dozens of black feathers.
“Rosie!”
She looked up at her father and he saw her face was bleeding.
He picked her up and held her close. She was breathing heavily and shaking.
He looked at the feathers.
“What happened?”
Rosie didn’t reply. She buried her head into her father’s shoulder. He hugged her as she sobbed. Her sobs turned to tears and within seconds she was crying her heart out.
He carried her to the landing, closed the door and took her downstairs.
“What’s happened?” asked Sophie.
“Shush,” whispered Finn as he rocked Rosie.
“I want mummy,” sobbed the little girl.
Sophie walked over to her daughter. Rosie lifted her head and looked at her mother. There were cuts on her forehead and cheek.
“How did you do this?” asked Sophie.
At first she couldn’t answer. Her tears were getting the better of her. Sophie pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed the spots of blood on her face. Rosie flinched.
“The bird did it,” said Rosie.
“The bird?”
“There’s a nasty blackbird upstairs, and it hurt me.”
“Where did it come from?” asked Sophie.
“Behind the door in the corner,” sobbed Rosie.
“She must mean the airing cupboard,” said Finn.
Finn passed Rosie to Sophie.
“There are black feathers scattered around the middle bedroom, I’ll find the bird and let it out.”
He grabbed a towel and went upstairs. He knew it must be somewhere in the middle bedroom because he had closed the door behind him. But he definitely hadn’t seen it when he’d gone in to get Rosie.
It must have flown back into the airing cupboard thought Finn.
Carefully he opened the bedroom door and poked his head around, expecting to see the scared creature.
The room was empty, and the windows were closed. He noticed the cupboard door was ajar and there where feathers scattered outside. He crept over holding the towel ready to throw over the bird as soon as he saw it. Nervously, he opened the door and inside it was dark. His eyes acclimatised to the poor light, and he saw it was empty. Not even a feather. He shut the door and looked around the room. Apart from the scattering of feathers, the bedroom was empty.
“What the hell?”
All the upstairs rooms were empty.
He picked up a handful of feathers and went back downstairs
“Did you get it?” asked Sophie.
“It's not there,” said Finn shaking his head.
He handed the feathers to Sophie.
“These are too big for a blackbird. Check out the size of this one,” said Sophie holding a jet black feather which was as long as her forearm.
“Maybe it was a crow?” suggested Finn.
“Maybe, but this feather is huge.”
“How big was the bird?” asked Sophie as she turned to Rosie who was sitting on the floor hugging her doll.
“This big,” replied Rosie stretching her arm as high as she could. “I don’t want to be here,” she sobbed.
“It’s okay poppet, it was just a bird that got in, and I bet he was more scared than you.”
Finn wearily looked at his wife.
“To be honest, I'll struggle to get her bed put together by bedtime, it’s five o’clock and I’ve not even started unpacking yet. Do you think your sister would let Rosie sleep at her place tonight? Especially after what happened with the bird.”
“I’ll call her, I’m sure she won’t mind.”
Rosie was happier when she was told she'd be sleeping at her Auntie Heather’s house.
An hour later Heather was at the house and Rosie was pleased to see her auntie. Sophie told her about the bird and handed her the feathers.
“They’re raven’s feathers,” said Heather as she examined them.
“A raven?” said Finn with a confused expression. “I thought it was from a crow.”
“Ravens aren’t as commonplace as crows, but look,” she replied whilst holding a feather by its quill.
“Raven feathers are long, between 20 to 36 inches, smooth and angled. Crow feathers are shorter and are more blunted than a raven's. This isn't from a crow.”
Finn shrugged his shoulders.
“You’d think we’d have heard a bird as big as a raven flapping around the house.”
“I don’t know, but I can you assure it's a raven feather.”
“You’ve got to trust my sister, she’s always been a bird brain,” said Sophie with a half-smile.
Finn and Sophie waved to their daughter as Heather pulled away.
“Okay, I need to get a move on, I’ve got loads to do,” said Finn closing the front door.
A little later he was assembling his daughter’s bed in the middle room where the bird had been. The sun was at an angle and cast a warm glow across the bedroom. The light caught his eye, and he looked towards the window. And then he saw it. The ghostly imprint of a large bird on the glass. He placed the screwdriver on the floor, and walked over to examine it. He ran his finger over the pattern. His heart skipped a beat.
“Sophie, come up here.”
“Do I have to? I’m busy and my back’s aching.”
“Please, take a look at this.”
He heard his wife’s heavy steps as she made her way upstairs. She blew out a huff when she reached the top step.
“This had better be worth it,” she whispered as she entered the room.
“It
’s the bird that attacked Rosie,” said Finn pointing to the imprint on the window.
“Don’t be daft Finn, that bird crashed into the window from the outside, it's more likely it fell to the ground and died of shock.”
Finn shook his head.
“Come over here.”
Sophie walked up to the window and looked at Finn.
“What am I missing?” said Sophie shrugging her shoulders.
“Touch the window where the imprint is.”
She ran her hand over the pattern of the bird and gasped as her finger smeared the grease which made the impression.
“It was on the inside, the bird was in this room and flew into the window.”
“The question is," said Finn, “where the hell is it now?”
Chapter 8
Early August
Heather stood at the traffic lights at the bottom of St. Michaels Hill and looked at the steep incline.
“I'll never make it up that hill,” said her father as he contemplated climbing one of the steepest roads in the city.
“If you gave up smoking it wouldn’t be so much of an effort for you.” huffed Heather. “Besides, I imagine a walk up that hill is a lot less than Sophie’s had to deal with.”
Heather, her father John and mother Grace were on their way to visit Sophie who had given birth to Jack the previous day. The maternity hospital car park was full and the only place Heather could park was on the main road at the bottom of the hill.
“Come on John, keep up,” said Grace as the lights changed allowing them to cross the busy road.
“Mum, I don’t think they’ll allow you to take those into the ward,” said Heather pointing to the large bouquet her mother was holding.
“Nonsense, don’t be so daft, of course you can bring flowers.”
“She’s right. I read it in the Daily Mail. Something about them spreading germs and creating extra work for nurses,” added John as he tried to keep up.
After walking fifty yards John stopped and held his chest.
“I’m knackered, I need to sit down.”
“Dad, we’re not even a quarter of the way….. you need to get into shape.”
Grace pointed to a wooden bench outside a derelict church on the other side of the road.
They crossed over and climbed half a dozen steps which took them to a paved area outside the churchyard.
John sat on the bench and let out a sigh as he reached for his cigarettes.
“Dad, please put those things away, you'll not make it up the hill if you smoke one of those.”
He huffed and put them back in his pocket.
“What am I going to do with these if I can’t bring them in for Sophie?” said Grace admiring the flowers.
Heather looked at the derelict church and read the name on the faded sign.
“St Michael on the Mount Without. That’s a strange name for a church.”
“It’s because it was built outside the city walls,” explained her father.
“But why ‘without'"?
“It means it’s without walls,.….. outside the city walls.”
Heather nodded and walked over to railings and looked at the dishevelled graveyard.
“It’s such a shame they let it get like this. I bet no one ever visits the dead in this place.”
She turned to her mother sitting beside John on the bench.
“Mum, I know what you can do with those flowers.”
She held out her hand and motioned for her mother to pass them.
“I’ll put them in the graveyard, it could do with brightening up.”
“No, you don’t, I’ve paid sixteen pounds for these, and you’re not dumping them in an old church.”
“Why not? You can’t take them into the hospital and if you take them home, they’ll be dead in a day, you know what you and dad are like for looking after flowers. Dad’s great in the garden, but you guys never remember to water the plants around the house.”
Grace sighed and reluctantly handed them to her daughter.
Heather walked back to the graveyard and pushed the rusty gate. The place was so overgrown with weeds and nettles she could barely see the gravestones.
She looked to her left and there it was.
That’s strange she thought as she made her way towards the only gravestone which was not overrun with brambles and weeds. The grass around the edge of the stone was neatly manicured. A few wild flowers bordered the ancient slab of rock.
The stone was so old most of the words had faded. Squinting her eyes to block the glare from the sun she saw dates which were partially legible. She knelt down for a closer look.
“Died September 6th 1839, I wonder how old you were?” she whispered.
She placed the flowers on the grave and ran her fingers over the faded writing.
As she touched the stone a voice echoed around the graveyard. It appeared to come from everywhere. She jumped up, looked around and saw no one other than her parents on the bench.
She ran to the gate and called to her parents.
“Did you say something?”
Her parents looked at her with blank expressions.
“Didn’t you hear that voice?”
They shook their heads.
She went back to the stone, knelt down and touched it again. As she did an image of a face filled her mind. It was a man who appeared to be in his early forties. His face wore a pained expression. He looked up, gazed into her eyes and smiled.
Then she heard it again. This time the voice was loud and clear and it bounced from one corner of the churchyard to the other.
“Charles Samuel Nash.”
Heather stood up and as soon as she removed her finger from the stone the reverberating voice ceased. She was shaking.
“What on earth…..?”
She was brought back to reality by her mother’s voice.
“Come on Heather, your father’s got his breath back. I’m desperate to meet my new grandson.”
Heather frowned and walked to the gate.
She glanced towards the gravestone and shuddered as she thought about what had just happened.
Under her breath she said the name “Charles Samuel Nash.”
She shivered as if the chill of a December day had crept over her skin.
Chapter 9
It had been a whirlwind of a fortnight for the Maynard family. The new house was nowhere near ready and Sophie’s waters had broken five days earlier than expected.
Finn pulled up outside their house and took a long look at Jack alongside him in the baby seat. He ran his finger across the tiny boy’s cheek and smiled as he watched his face screw up.
“He’s perfect,” said Finn in his gentle West Country accent.
Finn glanced at Sophie. She looked tired.
“How are you?”
“I’m very very happy and very very sleepy.”
Finn opened the rear door for Sophie who groaned as she stepped out. He undid the baby seat, gently lifted it out and placed it on the pavement. Jack yawned and wriggled in his comfy baby carrier.
“Good afternoon.”
Finn looked up to see a bald man in his mid-fifties. The man had been watching Finn from his garden. He crossed the road and shook his hand.
“My name’s Kieran, pleased to meet you.”
Finn smiled.
“It looks as if the two of you have had a busy time.”
“You could say that,” replied Finn gripping his neighbour’s hand. “Sorry we’ve not introduced ourselves earlier, but as you say, we’ve been a bit busy since we’ve moved in.”
“No problem. Wow, he’s gorgeous,” said Kieran looking at Jack.
A look of pride spanned Finn’s face as the two men stood over the baby boy.
“This is Sophie,” said Finn gesturing towards his wife.
Sophie smiled and Kieran saw the face of a tired new mother.
“I’d better let you get on with things…… If there’s anything you need, just as
k.”
Finn thanked him and turned to Jack who was sleeping in the warmth of the August sun.
“Come over for a beer one night,” called Kieran while walking back to his house.
“That sounds like a good idea,” replied Finn as he lugged Sophie’s overnight bag over his shoulder and bent down to pick up Jack.
Henry Buxton watched from his porch as Finn carried Jack with Sophie slowly walking behind.
He looked at Kieran and screwed his face with an air of disapproval.
By seven thirty Finn was slumped on the settee, hungry and tired. Jack slept in his Moses basket and Sophie was out for the count upstairs.
Rosie was at Heather’s and the house was quiet.
His eyes began to close when he heard a knock.
He opened the door and saw Kieran holding a hot oven dish covered with silver foil.
“My wife’s cooked far too much pasta, and we wondered if you and Sophie wanted some?”
Finn smiled and pulled back the silver foil. The food smelled good. He looked across the road and saw Kieran’s wife waving from the door.
“You’re a life saver,” said Finn.
“Do you fancy a beer to go with it?” asked Kieran.
Finn contemplated the thought of a cold lager to wash down the pasta.
“I think you’ve just become my new best friend,” replied Finn. “And bring one for yourself,” he added.
The two new friends enjoyed the beer and Finn ate his half of the pasta. He put the rest in the fridge for Sophie for when she woke up.
They spoke quietly so as not to wake Jack, who occasionally made little whimpering sounds like a kitten.
They talked about their jobs. Kieran told Finn about his work as a software engineer and Finn briefly explained that he was a graphic designer.
“This isn’t a bad old road, and we’re a friendly bunch,” said Kieran before taking a sip from his can.
Finn nodded and sat back in his chair.
“But I’d warn you to not pay too much attention to Ruth Jackson, the lady next door.”
The Third Skull (Book one - The Discovery): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller Page 4
