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

by Andrew Stafford

  Kieran took the keys, thanked him and followed the salesman to the forecourt where the red Porsche 911 Carrera was waiting for him.

  The salesman’s voice faded into the distance as Kieran walked around the car. He was stunned by the beauty of the thing as it reflected the afternoon sun.

  It wasn’t for him, it was an early birthday present for Linda. He knew she’d love the car, but he knew she’d love something else about it even more. The registration plate. HE11 BDG. Both he and his wife were huge Beatles fans. They’d first met at a Beatles convention in Liverpool thirty years earlier. Their favourite Beatles song was Hey Bulldog, which was why he’d chosen the personalised number plate for her new car. HE11 BDG was the closest he could find to Hey Bulldog. He knew she’d love it.

  After over twenty years of patiently waiting and reporting the comings and goings of the strange house in Whitcombe Fields Road to Gabriel Butler, Kieran had become a rich man. He’d walked away from his job and was living a life of leisure.

  He felt no guilt over how he’d earned the money and he’d never believed the eccentric billionaire’s prediction of what would happen.

  Even though Butler’s prophesy of the spate of suicides had turned out to be true, Tempest found it hard to believe the old man when he’d told him of the consequences of Kieran’s involvement. The event the crazy old man described seemed too ‘earth shattering’ to happen. But Tempest was taking no chances, and he’d shipped out as soon as he could. The sight of the raven perched in the garden of 11a, the day he’d pulled away in the hired transit van, had been the sign that hinted that maybe everything Butler had predicted would happen.

  Chapter 40

  Sophie had been crying for the past two days. Her daughter didn’t understand why mummy was so upset and why daddy wasn’t looking after things.

  Grace put her arms around Sophie. She had been trying to console her daughter since yesterday, but there seemed nothing she could do to end her flood of tears. Tending to Jack was something which distracted her from what was happening.

  “Wait until I get my hands on that bastard,” cursed Sophie’s father. He’d never seen his daughter so upset.

  Grace threw him a look.

  “Not now John.”

  Grace tried to comprehend what was going on, but Sophie’s description of what happened between her and Finn on their doorstep was conveyed through a mass of unstoppable tears and Grace wasn’t sure what had happened between them.

  Finn was suffering a mental breakdown, and was showing signs of having a dual personality. He needed professional help.

  At last Sophie’s tears subsided. Her face was red and puffy. Grace handed her a glass of water.

  “Are you ready to talk?” asked Grace.

  Sophie put down the glass, wiped her eyes and nodded.

  Over an hour later she’d told her mother of how Finn had changed in such a short space of time. She’d described how almost overnight he’d transformed from the fun loving father and husband dedicated to nothing else but his family into a self-centred, money oriented bully, who had no time for anyone other than himself. She explained what had happened when she’d called at their house after receiving the call from Tomlinson’s secretary.

  “It all seemed to have begun around the time he cut himself,” said Sophie.

  “Did you ever find out what happened?”

  Sophie shook her head.

  “He’s changed so quickly. He decided not to get his hair cut, and I’ve never seen it grow so fast. It seems like every day it grows another quarter of an inch. I mean it mum, he’s changing not just mentally, but also physically. It’s like he’s a different person.”

  Grace understood what she meant. She’d seen him a few days earlier and hardly recognised him.

  “You're welcome to stay with us until this is over.”

  Sophie hadn’t mentioned the other things that had been happening in her house. She’d told her parents nothing of the visits from William, or the ghost of Robert Buxton and Rosie’s strange drawings. She’d not wanted to worry them and now didn’t seem the best time to mention it. Her mother had experienced enough supernatural nonsense with great grandmother Elizabeth, so the last thing she wanted her mother to know was that Rosie spoke with the dead, like Elizabeth had done.

  “So, Finn acted differently after he’d cut his face” asked her father.

  Sophie sat back and thought. She gazed at the ceiling and cast her mind back.

  “No, it was before then. It was about the time he wore that awful ring.”

  “You mean the one that looks like it fell out of a Christmas cracker?” added John.

  Sophie nodded.

  “I wish it was from a cracker, I would have thrown it out. Do you know that thing is solid gold, 18 carat and it’s covered in tiny rubies?”

  John blew air through his cheeks.

  “Wow, no I didn’t. Where did he get it?”

  Sophie told them the story of how he’d got it after Jack was born. John listened as she told him about the mystery antique shop.

  “I’m not suggesting Finn’s been lying to you Sophie, but your mother and I have lived around here for over forty years and I can assure you there has never been an antique shop on the high street.”

  Sophie shrugged her shoulders and wiped her eyes.

  “I can only tell you what he told me. He seemed sincere at the time.” She took another sip of water and continued. “He didn’t wear it until recently, and I’m certain he changed the evening he put it on. He’s not taken it off since.”

  Grace hugged her again.

  “Mum, dad……. what am I going to do? I love Finn, and I want the man I married to come back. I want us to be happy like we were before.”

  “Perhaps he’s having a midlife crisis?” suggested John, who was trying to be helpful. Grace shot him another glance and John lowered his head.

  “I wish it was as simple as that dad. Shall I tell you what I think?” said Sophie looking to her mother, and then to her father.

  “I think he’s haunted.”

  Sophie hadn’t wanted to bother her parents with the odd things that happened in her home, and what she’d said just slipped out.

  “Haunted? By what?” blurted her father.

  “By …… by, I don’t know,” stuttered Sophie. She wiped her eyes and continued.

  “It’s like something is haunting him from the inside. A spirit or something from the past. Oh, I'm not sure what I’m saying. All I know is that the person I saw on my doorstep yesterday wasn’t my husband.”

  John stood up and turned to Sophie.

  “I think the best thing you can do right now is give him some space. Let him work through whatever is happening. If it carries on for more than a few days you should seek professional medical advice. If he becomes violent towards you, make sure you involve the police. Don’t deal with it on your own. Remember, we’re here to help you.”

  She reached for her father’s hand and squeezed it.

  “I know dad, thank you. I appreciate it, I really do.”

  John’s intentions had been good. But it would take more than a loving family to help Finn Maynard through what was about to happen to him.

  Chapter 41

  1st December

  Ruth Jackson smiled at Gabriel Butler as he crossed the road from Kieran’s old house. She did a double take when he opened Finn Maynard’s garden gate and strolled up to his front door.

  Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

  Do these two know each other? she thought as she peered from behind her hydrangea.

  Ruth ducked down when she heard Butler rapping on Finn’s door.

  She'd not seen the confrontation Sophie had had with her husband the other day and knew nothing of what happened when Finn told his wife he was Alexander Drake.

  It took several attempts at rousing Finn before the door opened.

  “Yes!” said Finn in an abrupt tone.

  “Hello Finn, my name is Gabri
el Butler, I’ve just moved in across the road and I need to make your acquaintance.”

  Finn viewed him with suspicion and didn’t speak.

  Butler offered his hand, but Finn declined to shake it.

  “I see you have the ring. It’s beautiful don’t you think?”

  Finn raised his hand and looked at it.

  “What do you know about it?” asked Finn warily.

  “There's a lot of things I know about what’s been happening to you Mr. Maynard, or should I say Mr. Drake?”

  “Carry on,” replied Finn, wanting to know more.

  "Would you be kind enough to invite me in? We have a lot to discuss.”

  He hesitated, but warmed to Butler’s smile. Something about the man seemed familiar and Finn sensed he was someone he should trust, someone who was on his side.

  Butler looked toward the sky, shielded his eyes against the sun and looked up at the raven which had appeared and circled the rooftops.

  “Ah, I see our friend is in town,” said Butler motioning towards the bird.

  Finn took a few steps forward, stood alongside Butler on the garden path and watched the huge black bird as it soared out of view.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Finn.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence Finn invited Butler in.

  Ruth Jackson popped her head up from behind the leafy hydrangea just as Finn’s door closed.

  She’d heard their conversation and was bursting with curiosity. She was desperate to tell someone what she had just witnessed, but knew she should keep this to herself. She was dying to know what was happening in her road.

  Who was this stranger with the Rolls Royce and why had he moved into Tempest’s house? He seemed to know Finn, but it was obvious that Finn wasn’t sure who Gabriel Butler was. And why on earth would he refer to Finn as Mr. Drake? Was Finn Maynard hiding something?

  Ruth Jackson was damn sure she would make it her business to find out.

  Chapter 42

  Heather was frustrated. It had been over a week since she’d seen and spoken with Charles Nash in the graveyard of St Michael on the Mount Without. Nash told her the same thing her great grandmother had said, that she’d been chosen for something big. Nash said that she was his protector and he needed protection from the worst possible evil imaginable and what was going to happen had begun. He said the wheels were in motion and nothing could stop them.

  She rolled over in her bed and sighed. Heather couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the strange things happening to her.

  These ghosts were playing games with her. She was certain that Elizabeth and Charles were real and not her imagination.

  Heather rolled over and looked up at the stone head. Nash told her she didn’t need a channel to speak with him, she only required belief.

  “I believe in you Charles, I’ve seen you, I’ve spoken with you. I definitely believe. Give me a clue, a snippet. Please, I need to know what this is about.”

  Heather glanced at the clock and sighed again. It was after two am. Lately Heather had been sighing a lot. The only person she’d told of the strange things was her sister. She was relieved when Sophie said she’d believed her about the visitation from Elizabeth and the voice of Nash. Heather had not spoken to her since and had told no one about seeing him in the graveyard.

  Heather was playing a waiting game. Waiting for something big to happen. She’d been watching the news over the last few days in case there was any clue of impending doom which could be linked to what Nash hinted at when he referred to the ‘worst possible evil’. Was Nash talking of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or a tsunami? Or was he referring to something crashing from heavens? Maybe a meteor strike. If so, how on earth could she stop such a thing?

  “The worst possible evil?” she whispered to herself.

  Earthquakes, tsunamis and meteor strikes are deadly, but they aren’t evil, they are natural things. Evil is a predetermined act. Something that someone does with intent. Such as an evil dictator.

  She pondered over history’s evil leaders. The obvious culprits flit around her mind. Hitler, Pol Pot, Saddam Hussein. Heather thought she would have more chance of stopping an earthquake, tsunami or a meteor strike than an evil dictator.

  The stress of what had been happening was affecting her. Heather had no appetite, and had to force herself to eat. Normally she didn't drink very much, but recently she’d drink a bottle of wine in an evening. Drinking wasn’t doing what it should. Instead of calming her nerves, she became morose when intoxicated and her mind worked harder than when sober trying to work everything out.

  Even though it was December, the night was unseasonably warm. It didn’t help that she’d forgotten to turn off the central heating and on top of everything else, her hot bedroom was another reason she found it hard to sleep. The window was open, and she appreciated the waft of gentle breeze which filtered its way through and cooled her hot skin.

  Heather had finished a bottle of wine before she’d gone to bed and now she was thirsty. The alcohol dehydrated her. She got out of bed for a glass of water. She stood in her bedroom and looked at Charlie with his permanent grin etched upon his stupid stone face.

  “Come on mate, give me a clue. You need to help me out,” said Heather, then made her way to the kitchen.

  The instant Heather set foot in the hallway she felt cold. It hit her like an icy blast. She shivered and took a step back into her bedroom where she appreciated the balmy heat. She was confused. She put her arm out into the hall and goose bumps made the hairs on her skin stand up. Heather was tired and a little bit drunk, but not enough to imagine the change in temperature. Thirst ravaged her and she craved a cool glass of water, but it was far too cold to walk to the kitchen in just her pyjamas.

  She grabbed her jeans from the floor and slipped them on. In her wardrobe she found a jumper.

  She made her way to kitchen at the end of the hall. For every step she took, the temperature dropped a degree.

  The kitchen door was shut. Heather pushed on the handle and was shocked by how cold it felt. The iciness stung her skin.

  What on earth is happening?

  The door swung open, and she was hit by such a blast of icy air, it made her hallway feel positively clement. Her small kitchen was as cold as the outdoors on a winter’s evening.

  She flicked the light switch, and instead of the white harsh radiance of the fluorescent light, the kitchen became lit by a dim orange glow which danced around the room.

  But it wasn’t her kitchen. She had walked into a shed, or an out-building. She shuddered as the cold permeated her jeans and jumper. Her bare feet tingled against the stone floor and hurt as small pieces of stone and grit stuck to her soles. Her eyes got used to the dim light, and as they did she saw two figures in the corner. She rubbed her eyes.

  Could this be a sign from Charles?

  She took another step closer.

  The orange light which illuminated the stone building was coming from behind her. She turned around, but couldn’t see its source. It was as if someone behind her held an oil lamp, or something which emitted a naked flame.

  She looked at the two figures who were a few feet in front of her. They were talking, but she couldn’t hear their words. She knew it was only a vision and was not scared in the slightest. She stepped forward and knelt to the level of the one sitting on the floor. Heather looked at the young woman. Her clothes suggested she was not from the 21st century. She appeared afraid, with her back against the hard stone wall of the building.

  Heather instinctively moved back as the other figure swiped the young woman across the face with a riding glove. The other figure was male with his back to Heather so she couldn’t see his face. She took another step back. Even though she was sure he was an apparition, he scared her, and she didn’t want to get too close.

  She watched them speak and was frustrated because she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She watched the woman’s lips and tried to work out what
she was saying. Heather was behind the man and knew by his stance and his body language that he was perplexed.

  He climbed to his feet, turned and faced the door. Heather gasped and placed her hand over her mouth when she saw his face.

  “No!” she whispered. She couldn’t understand why it was him.

  He looked right through her. She watched his mouth move as he spoke and this time she heard his words.

  “She’s not going to talk. Mr. Morris, do your worst.”

  It was his face, but it wasn't his voice.

  He passed through her. She turned as he left the building.

  What the hell does this mean?

  The man was her brother-in-law, Finn Maynard.

  After Finn left the building a short ugly man holding a burning torch entered and stood over the woman.

  Heather was horrified and rooted to the spot as the ugly man relentlessly and repeatedly kicked the defenceless woman.

  Heather could hear her voice. She flinched as the woman screamed.

  The short man, Morris, grabbed a lamp hanging from the beam and smashed it to the ground beside her. Oil splashed across the floor and onto the woman’s clothes.

  “You really should have told Mr. Drake where his children are,” grunted Morris.

  The woman looked at him and with a voice which conveyed both defiance and confidence, told him they were not his children.

  Heather knew what was coming next, but she felt compelled to watch.

  Morris dropped the flaming torch and took two steps back as the oil ignited and flames raced towards the helpless woman. He stood for a few seconds and watched her body thrash from side to side as the flames engulfed her. Heather watched the fire illuminate his grim face. She wasn’t sure if she saw him smirk as the woman’s life drew to a dreadful close. He raised his hands and warmed them against the fire which consumed the building. Morris turned and headed for the door, passing through the space which Heather occupied. The heat of the flames was punctuated by the chill of Morris passing through her.