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

by Andrew Stafford

  Ruth was desperate to know what on earth was happening. If it had been a new neighbour moving in after buying the house, she'd be over in a flash to introduce herself and welcome them to the neighbourhood. But this was different. She knew that Kieran and Linda left under unusual circumstances and she couldn’t just storm across the road as she normally would do.

  Maybe if I go out to the garden he might introduce himself, thought Ruth.

  Ruth went to the kitchen, pulled a half full black bag of rubbish from the bin and took it outside as an excuse to go out to her garden. She lifted the lid of her black wheelie bin and made as much noise as possible, ramming it in with the other black bags of landfill waste.

  She looked over to the house, the cardboard boxes were still there. Peering through the leaves of her hydrangea she saw the man step out and pick up a box. Ruth noisily hauled the wheelie bin forward and clattered it along her garden path to make such a commotion that the stranger would have little choice other than to look in her direction. Her plan worked. He glanced at her, smiled, tipped his hat whilst carrying the box with one arm and continued back to the house. She needed to know who he was, or at least his name. The wheelie bin plan worked to a certain degree. At least the man acknowledged her. If he was as true a gentleman as he appeared to be, then his chivalrous side would urge him to help her, if she gave the impression she needed assistance.

  The man stepped out of the house again and reached for the second cardboard box. Thinking on her feet, Ruth slipped off her wedding ring and let it drop into wheelie bin.

  “Oh no!” exclaimed Ruth, bending forward into the bin as far as she could without falling in.

  “For heaven’s sake!” she cursed in a louder voice.

  The man looked up and watched Ruth clattering around her garden, leaning into her bin and muttering to herself.

  “Are you okay over there?” called the man with an accent befitting the clothes he wore and the car he drove.

  Ruth looked up and smiled.

  “I’m sorry, I appear to have got myself into a fix.”

  He put the box down and made his way towards Ruth and stopped at her gate.

  ”Whatever is the matter, can I help?”

  “It’s my wedding ring, it must have slipped off, and it’s fallen to the bottom of the bin. I can’t reach it.”

  “That will never do,” said the man removing his hat, “May I help you?”

  He handed Ruth his hat and leaned into the bin.

  “Yes, I can see it. It’s right at the bottom.”

  As hard as he tried he couldn’t reach it.

  “Pass me that bamboo cane over there.”

  Ruth pulled the stick from a flower pot and passed it to the man who used it to reach the ring and hook it out of the bin. He slid it from the cane and let it drop into his palm. He handed it to Ruth and smiled a charming smile. His charisma captivated her.

  “Your husband wouldn’t be very impressed if you’d lost your beautiful wedding ring.”

  Ruth blushed. “Oh, I’m not married, I mean I’m not anymore…….. my husband passed away several years ago.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  Ruth’s blushing face glowed like a beacon as the man offered his hand.

  “My name’s Gabriel, Gabriel Butler and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Chapter 34

  “We’ve got to get out. This house is jinxed, it’s haunted,” said Sophie pacing up and down the lounge.

  Finn shook his head.

  “Listen to yourself, you’re crazy. We’re not going anywhere and that’s final.”

  “But how can you say that? You’ve seen it for yourself. This place has ghosts, and not just William, there’s the man with paper stuck to his face who Rosie saw…… and now, I for one, believe her.”

  “But what can they do to us? They’re spirits, ……just echoes of a former life. They can’t harm us.”

  “What if those harmless echoes were connected with the suicides?”

  Finn shook his head.

  “And hasn’t it occurred to you as odd that you were on the train which killed Robert Buxton?”

  “Coincidence, nothing more than coincidence!” huffed Finn.

  “Listen to yourself….. we must get out. We’ve young children, let’s go before the same thing happens to one of us.”

  Sophie shuddered with anger at her husband’s obstinacy.

  She turned to him after taking a few seconds to compose herself and calm down.

  “And isn't it odd you’ve completely changed?”

  “I’ve not changed,” grunted Finn, knowing full well to what Sophie was referring.

  “You’re different. You look different, and you are different. You’re nothing like the man I married. Something’s happening to you, and if you can’t see it, then you’re blind.”

  At that moment, Rosie walked into the lounge hugging a teddy bear.

  “Stop shouting.”

  Sophie looked over to see her daughter standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to move from this house. I like it here.”

  “It’s okay, no one’s moving, we’re all staying here in this house,” said Finn as he walked over and hugged Rosie whilst glaring at Sophie.

  Sophie knelt to her daughter’s level and held her hand. Finn took a step back.

  “Remember Amy, your pink bear…… your favourite one?”

  Rosie nodded.

  “Tell me again, where is she now?”

  “I’ve told you.”

  “Yes darling, but I’d like you to remind me, I’m not sure if I can remember where she went.”

  “You do silly,” smirked Rosie.

  “Just say it again please,” asked Sophie. The tone of her voice developed an air of impatience which scared Rosie.

  “Okay, I gave her to William, and he took Amy to give to Louisa.”

  “Is Amy with Louisa now?”

  Rosie nodded. “Are you angry with me because I gave her away?”

  “No, not at all. It was nice of you to give Amy to William’s sister.”

  Rosie smiled.

  “Does William ever tell you where he lives, where he goes when he’s not playing with you?”

  Rosie shook her head.

  “Rosie, I may have heard Jack, would you mind being an angel and go in to see him? Make sure he’s okay. I want to talk with daddy for a couple of minutes.”

  Rosie seemed happier. She skipped out of the lounge and up the stairs.

  “So you don’t believe these spirits can harm us and they’re just echoes of a former life? Well I think they’re more than that,” said Sophie.

  “Why?” asked Finn with a frown.

  “Because there’s physical interaction. Rosie gave that bear to William so he could give it to his sister. There’s no sign of Amy anywhere. I’ve searched this house from top to bottom. Mum bought her that bear, and she’d be upset if it was lost, that’s why I’ve searched everywhere for it.”

  “Do you really believe a ghost has taken Rosie’s bear?”

  “Yes I do, and we should get out. Whatever's here does physical things. And I'm certain it drove those who lived here before us to their deaths.”

  Finn stood up, shook his head and walked to the kitchen, leaving Sophie in the lounge.

  He knew she was right. There was something in the house. They’d both seen the little boy and Rosie had been speaking to him. Finn couldn’t disagree. There had to be a connection with what was happening and the suicides. He recalled the vision of the girl in the bathroom. He knew she had a link to William and Louisa.

  But Finn couldn’t help thinking about the bigger picture. He recalled the voice that told him to 'be a man' and prepare for something big. The words echoed in his mind. ‘Face what’s happening. Because if you’re scared now, just you wait for what I’ve got in store for you’.

  But Finn wasn’t afraid. Instead he was intrigued. He knew that he was part of somethi
ng important.

  When he’d seen William in the kitchen he'd been scared. The old Finn Maynard had briefly returned, but now he’d overcome his short-lived anxiety and was ready to embrace whatever was about to happen.

  This was why he had no intention of leaving 11a Whitcombe Fields Road.

  Chapter 35

  Heather knelt by the grave of Charles Nash. She felt compelled to be there. It had become untidy since the last time she’d seen it and she wanted to make it look nice for him. As far as she was aware the grave received no visitors, and it was a shame to let it become overgrown like the other graves which surrounded his.

  There was another reason for being there. She was desperate to speak with Charles. Since the visitation from Elizabeth she’d been expecting a message from the mysterious dead person. Elizabeth suggested that Heather needed something to make communicating with Nash easier. When she was alive, Elizabeth focussed on a silver cross around her neck when communicating with the dead. She’d suggested there was something in Heather’s flat which she could use to channel her energies and speak with him. The only thing Heather could think of was the stone head painted by her niece which she named Charlie. Since Charlie had been around strange and eerie things had happened. Heather’s nerves juddered as she recalled with clarity the strange dream in the graveyard and how she’d woken up in her bedroom with her feet caked in damp soil. She mentally placed the unnerving memory in a box, closed the lid and continued to pull at the weeds around the edge of the gravestone.

  After an hour of tidying and placing potted plants around the grave she sat back and admired her work. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a bottle of mineral water. It wasn’t a warm day, but toiling over Nash’s plot had caused her to break into a sweat.

  She put the bottle back in the bag and then unzipped the main section and removed the stone head.

  Heather hoped that by bringing it to Nash’s grave the chances of speaking with him would be better, as this was the first place she’d become aware of him and had heard his words bouncing around the churchyard.

  She’d been afraid when she’d first heard his voice. But since then, and since the morning she’d heard him at her flat when his booming voice filled her hallway saying they needed to talk, Heather’s fears had subsided. Maybe it was speaking with Elizabeth which had calmed her. Elizabeth had certainly prepared Heather for the strange things happening to her.

  She needed to know what was happening.

  It was late in the afternoon. Heather strolled around the small graveyard, to make sure she was alone and returned to Nash’s gravestone. She lifted the head and placed it at the top of the stone. She knew which way Nash lay as Christian burials always faced to the east.

  Sitting crossed legged on the grave stone, she placed her hands on top of the stone head and closed her eyes. A gentle breeze blew from the bottom of the hill. Heather heard the bushes rustle, pulled her jacket around her neck and concentrated on what she had come here to do. The sound of the breeze moving the bushes died away as she blocked out the surrounding noises. And then she spoke.

  “Charles, it's Heather.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Charles, I'm Heather, I understand you need to speak with me, can you hear me?”

  Silence prevailed.

  “Charles I understand there's something important you need me to do for you. Please speak with me. I’m ready to talk.”

  She opened her eyes. A noise from behind, made her jump.

  A cat rustled through bushes. She sighed and swore under her breath.

  “I’m wasting my bloody time,” she muttered and placed the head back into the bag.

  “I thought Elizabeth told you not to curse?”

  She looked up to see a man standing over her. He had short blond hair with a hint of a curl. He was a few pounds overweight and wore a dark navy blue tailcoat, white leather breeches and black shoes.

  He looked at her and smiled.

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a reassuring tone, “I didn’t always dress as smart as this, it's what they buried me in.”

  Heather sat on the gravestone with one hand covering her mouth. She was speechless. Even after speaking with Elizabeth, sitting at the feet of a dead person left her dumbstruck.

  Something was putting her at ease. Whether it was due to seeing Elizabeth, she didn’t know. But the cold chill of fear she felt when the man stood over her had lifted and now she was immersed in the warmth of love and sincerity.

  “Hello, I’m Charles, and you must be Heather.”

  She nodded and attempted to smile.

  “You’re real …… you really are real!”

  She looked at his feet, lifted her head and took in the full vision of the man in the nineteenth century garb until her eyes met with his.

  “You’re a real live ghost!”

  “Well that’s one way of putting it,” laughed Nash.

  She climbed to her feet and took a step closer.

  “Don’t do that.”

  Heather stopped and took a step back.

  “Remember what Elizabeth told you. It takes an awful lot of energy for a spirit to become visible and if you get too close you’ll burn.”

  An intense heat emanated from the vision.

  “You won’t see me for long, but I hope you’ll hear from me again. I wanted to stand before you, so you know who I am.”

  Heather nodded and listened.

  “And forget that nonsense about needing a channel to speak with me. The only thing you require is belief. Belief because I’m real.”

  Heather listened to the crackle of static as he raised his hand.

  “Elizabeth was right. You have been chosen for something special. You are here to protect me. You will be my protector.”

  At last Heather found her voice.

  “To protect you? But to protect you from what?”

  “From the worst possible evil anyone could imagine.”

  Heather didn’t understand what Nash meant.

  “The unfortunate thing is, I can’t tell you, but you will learn, you will adapt, you will become strong and you will become clever. You will need to keep your wits about you and you will always look over your shoulder. Learn to trust no one, especially those close to you.”

  “Those close to me? But why can’t you tell me? I don’t understand,” pleaded Heather.

  “Because, it is the way of things.”

  “And what if I refuse?”

  Nash looked at her with sombre expression.

  “Heather, you have no choice. The wheels are in motion, they cannot be stopped.”

  Heather said nothing, her silence urged Nash to continue.

  “Your belief in me, and your belief you are strong enough to see this thing through to the end will allow you to succeed. Good will overcome evil.”

  Heather was going to speak when the cat leapt from the undergrowth. It arched its back and hissed at the apparition. Without warning it launched itself at Nash. The instant it contacted the space occupied by Nash it recoiled and screeched. Cowering, it stood behind Heather before running back into the undergrowth.

  Heather turned to Nash, but he had gone. The air crackled with static electricity and smelt of burnt cat fur mixed with the familiar smell of fresh rain she’d noticed when Elizabeth had visited her.

  “Charles, where are you? Can you hear me?”

  Silence.

  “Charles, I have so many more questions, where are you?”

  She looked around the graveyard but he had gone. Apart than the lingering odour, there was nothing to suggest Charles Samuel Nash had ever been there.

  Chapter 36

  Finn sat in the kitchen alone pouring over Rosie’s drawings. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he hoped to find a connection which would give him a clue to what was happening in his world.

  Finn opened Rosie's colouring book to the picture of the two red circular patterns she’d drawn on the anniversary of Robert Buxton’s
death. The evening she said she’d seen the man with paper stuck to his face.

  He also had the detailed picture she’d drawn under the guidance of William. Both pictures had the same red circular patterns, which matched his ring, but he was looking for something else. He was certain there must be something else to explain the strange things that had been happening in his house.

  William and his sister were dead because of what was depicted in the picture William helped her draw. William had described the circumstances of his death.

  He pushed back his chair and considered what Ruth Jackson told Sophie about those who’d previously lived in his house. Moreover he thought of those who’d died who'd lived here.

  Before Kieran upped sticks and left with Linda, he’d told Finn that it would be best to keep away from Henry Buxton. But maybe a visit to Buxton would find a missing link, and help Finn work out what was happening.

  Finn strolled into the lounge and looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help checking out the ‘new Finn’ whenever he passed one. He'd never been a vain person, but since he’d been working out at the gym and grown his hair, he liked the appearance of the person he’d become. He took a step closer and ran his finger along the scar on his cheek. It had healed well, and he thought it added to his ‘new look’.

  Sophie and the children were out. He went back to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and returned to the lounge. From the window he looked at the mysterious hawthorn. The only thing that ever thrived in his front garden. He took a swig of beer and stared at the tree.

  Finn became struck by a thought. He returned to the kitchen and grabbed Rosie’s drawing with the children in the well. He took the picture to the lounge and compared her drawing of the tree to the hawthorn outside the window. From the lounge it was clear how precise her sketch was. Although childlike, the picture captured its detail. The trunk of the tree split into two sections eighteen inches from the ground. The section veering to the left split in two and grew in separate directions. She’d included a few of the major lower branches before colouring the foliage which covered the rest of the tree’s skeleton. He’d not noticed the level of detail until today. William must have told her how to draw it. Rosie’s picture gave the impression that the well was near the tree. Finn considered the significance of the tree and its relationship to the well. One of the major branches in her picture pointed towards the well. He could see what looked like the same branch on the tree in the garden which pointed towards the house, toward the kitchen.