The Third Skull (Book Two - The Revelation): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller

by Andrew Stafford

  Heather nodded.

  “Don't tell Rosie, it freaks her out,” she added.

  Sophie turned and faced her sister.

  “Does the head still speak to you?”

  “If you mean Charles Nash, then no, I’ve not heard from him for a while.”

  “How about Elizabeth?”

  Heather shook her head.

  “Heather, did you really hear and see these things, or do you think it may have been, well you know……?” Sophie’s voice trailed off. She chose her words carefully, but it was hard to not accuse her sister of being crazy.

  “I don’t blame you for thinking I’m mad sis, but I can assure you I really spoke with the dead. It’s not something I want, it just happens.”

  “You’d told me you're supposed to be looking out for Charles Nash, and you needed each other. Have you found out anything else about what that’s supposed to mean?”

  Heather swallowed hard.

  “Sophie, I’m about to tell you something, and I can assure you I haven’t made this up. I’ve not heard from Elizabeth or Charles, but I have spoken with someone else. I’ll tell you, as long as you promise you won’t tell mum and dad. They’ve got enough to worry about with you and Finn, I don’t want them worrying about me.”

  “Okay,” said Sophie warily, “I promise.”

  “The fire in my flat, it wasn’t caused by a faulty gas cooker. That will probably be what the report says, but it’s not what happened.”

  Sophie looked at her intently without speaking.

  “I'll not go through every detail, but the fire was caused by a vision.”

  “A vision like Elizabeth?”

  “Not quite. When I saw Elizabeth, she stood in my flat and spoke to me. This was different.”

  Heather told Sophie of the young woman in the stone building arguing with a man.

  “Why a stone building?”

  Heather shook her head.

  “I’ve no idea. I went to the kitchen and I saw them, but it wasn’t my kitchen, it was an outbuilding, like a barn.”

  “Why were they arguing?”

  “That’s not important. What scared me was the man. It was your Finn!”

  Sophie frowned.

  “It was him in every detail, even the scar on his face and that grey hair across his temple.”

  “And you’re certain it wasn’t a dream?”

  Heather nodded.

  Sophie said nothing, she stared at the ceiling.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Sophie didn’t answer, she continued to look blankly into space.

  After an awkward silence that seemed to last forever, Sophie turned to her sister.

  “I have a confession.”

  Heather didn't speak, which urged Sophie to continue.

  “You’re not the only one who’s been seeing ghosts.”

  Heather lifted her head from the pillow as her ears pricked up.

  “There’re things happening in my house too.”

  “What things? Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “I wanted to keep it to myself, but now I need to talk.”

  Sophie told her about Rosie’s imaginary friend, who in the end, wasn’t so imaginary after all.

  “And there’s another thing, when we saw the apparition of the little boy, I smelt the same odour you described.”

  “Fresh rain?” asked Heather.

  Sophie nodded and sighed.

  “And there’s something else. A year to the day Finn was on that train……..”

  “The one that killed the old man?” interrupted Heather.

  Sophie nodded and continued. “A year to the day, Rosie saw a man in her bedroom and we’re sure it was Robert Buxton, the man who died under the train.”

  Heather huffed air through her cheeks.

  “This must be more than a coincidence. Do you think this is what’s affecting Finn?”

  “I think so.”

  “Sophie, this whole thing is getting out of control. We need to save Finn before he does something stupid.”

  Sophie hadn’t told her sister of the run of suicides that had happened to those who’d lived in the house before, but it had been playing on her mind since Finn had told her that he was Alexander Drake. The day he’d announced Finn was dead, and he was someone else.

  “Okay, tomorrow we’ll go round to your place and speak with Finn, We’ll try to reason with him, and perhaps dad could come too. He could provide moral support.”

  Sophie nodded, but was becoming tired and crotchety.

  Heather was desperate to tell Sophie about what happened in the hospital when Alice Donaldson had appeared at her bedside. She was itching to tell her of Drake and the two children he’d planned on sacrificing over two hundred years ago.

  But Heather said nothing. She looked at her sister who had fallen asleep.

  The poor woman has heard enough for one night, thought Heather, I’ll tell her about Alexander Drake another time.

  Heather had no way of knowing how intertwined their lives had become.

  Chapter 48

  A knock at the door brought Finn out of a light slumber. He cursed, rolled off the settee and landed on the floor. He walked to the lounge window and saw Gabriel Butler at the door. Their eyes met and Butler greeted Finn with a smile.

  “What the fuck does he want?” muttered Finn as he turned and walked to the front door.

  “Hello young man, I thought we should carry on from where we left off last night.”

  Finn sighed and let Butler in.

  “Besides, I expect you’re hungry. I bet you’ve not eaten in days.”

  Butler held a carrier bag.

  “What’s in there?” asked Finn.

  “Leave it to me, I'll cook us a hearty breakfast.”

  Finn slumped in a chair, stared out of the window at the hawthorn tree, and soon the smell of bacon and eggs wafted from the kitchen. His stomach gurgled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

  He wandered into the kitchen just as Butler scooped an egg from the frying pan. Finn had to admit, the food looked and smelt fantastic.

  Neither of them spoke as they ate at the kitchen table. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was.

  After they’d finished Finn sat back in his chair and announced he could eat another breakfast. Butler smiled, took the plates and placed them in the sink.

  “Tell me Finn. What does this room mean to you?”

  “Do you mean the kitchen?”

  Butler nodded.

  “It’s just a kitchen, and nothing more,” said Finn with the shrug of his shoulders.

  “Really?” said Butler. “Have you not seen anything unusual?”

  Finn knew Butler was referring to William and Louisa.

  “Remember last night, the third archetypon?”

  Finn nodded.

  “And Alexander Drake, do you also remember that?”

  Finn nodded again. He could vaguely remember.

  “Finish your coffee and come with me. I have a surprise for you.”

  They crossed the road and got into Butler’s Rolls Royce. Butler reversed onto the road and caught sight of Ruth Jackson from the corner of his eye, peering at him from her window.

  Five minutes later they waited at the electric gates which slowly opened. He drove onto the gravel forecourt of the beautiful house and pulled up outside a large oak door. He glanced at Finn who admired the house through the car window.

  “Shall we?” said Butler as he opened the car door.

  Finn warily followed him. He stopped and surveyed the area. The building was huge, and the garden had been beautifully manicured.

  “Is this your home?” asked Finn.

  “It’s where I normally live, and technically it's my home. But I like to think I’m just looking after it for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “An old friend.”

  Butler unlocked the door and gestured at Finn to enter.

  The instant he
set foot in the hallway he felt it. He shuddered as familiarity hit him square between the eyes. Slowly he walked around the hall. He recognised each of the doors and knew the rooms behind them. He looked up and recognised the ornate plaster ceiling.

  “What’s happening, why is this place so familiar?” said Finn.

  Butler smiled. “Take your time, just let it sink in.”

  Even the smell of the building was familiar. The sound of his feet on the wooden floor echoed along the hall. Finn closed his eyes and touched the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear the sound of children playing and their footsteps as they ran past him and up the stairs. He opened his eyes, expecting to see them, but there was no one there other than Butler.

  Just being there evoked distant memories. He could recall lots of people busying themselves around the house. Maids carrying food from the kitchen to the dining room and familiar faces came and went.

  “What is this place?” he whispered.

  He walked upstairs and inspected the five bedrooms and three bathrooms.

  Butler watched as Finn went from room to room, hoping to find an answer to why the place meant so much to him.

  In his mind’s eye he saw another room. A dark room, with no windows, lit by candles.

  He made his way back downstairs and opened each of the doors along the hallway. He needed to find the dark room.

  Butler looked from the stairs as Finn randomly flitted from room to room like a man who’d lost something.

  His heart pounded, and he tried to recall where the dark room was. He stood in silence and placed his hand to his head and concentrated on the strange and distant memories which were surfacing to the forefront of his mind.

  “Is something bothering you?” asked Butler in a slightly patronising tone of voice.

  He didn’t answer. He placed his hand against the wall and tapped with his fingers. The touch of the wall against his fingertips stirred another memory. He walked along the hall with his eyes closed, tapping the wall as he went.

  He’s getting it, thought Butler as he watched the frustrated and confused man work out what was going on around him.

  Finn stopped. The feel of the wall at the end of the hallway seemed different. It had a hollow sound as he tapped it. He opened his eyes and looked at a wood clad partition.

  “What’s behind here?” demanded Finn.

  “Open it,” suggested Butler.

  Finn couldn’t find a way to open what appeared to be a door. Most of the downstairs hallway had been decorated in flock wallpaper, apart from the far end where Finn stood. The last twenty foot of the wall was clad with rustic oak. The wood sounded solid and dense as he knocked and tapped at it, but the sound had changed when he’d got to the end of the hall.

  He stood rooted to the floor and tried to recall why this part of the hall seemed so important. He ran his hand up and down the vertical oak timbers.

  He jumped back as one of the timbers moved as he touched it, and as it did, what appeared to be a hidden door opened an inch inwards. Finn pushed against the door which creaked and swung open.

  A damp and mouldy smell arose from a dark staircase behind the door.

  “You may need this,” suggested Butler holding a small torch.

  Finn peered through darkness and into a basement. He carefully made his way down wooden steps which groaned beneath his feet.

  The torch wasn’t casting enough light to be of much use. Finn caught sight of a few shadowy forms. He continued to shine the torch around the basement and Butler made his way behind him.

  And then he saw it.

  At first Finn thought he was seeing things. He took a step closer and shone the torch at it.

  “Woah!”

  He’d seen it before, but very much smaller. Butler had shown him a smaller version when he called to his house yesterday.

  Butler entered the basement and struck a match.

  “There’s no electricity in here. No one’s been in here for over one hundred and fifty years.”

  Butler lit candles which were placed around the cold and dusty room. The flickering yellow light cast an eerie glow as shadows danced from side to side.

  Finn gawped at the painting hanging from the wall and shone the torch at the face of the man in the portrait.

  “It’s the same picture you showed me the other day, the one from your wallet.”

  Butler nodded.

  The strange things that had been happening had affected his memory. Everything he tried to recall was vague and without clarity as if they had happened in a distant dream.

  He looked at the image of the man and was drawn to the scar on his face. There wasn’t much about Finn that was different to the man in the painting, other than his nose was a little wider and his brow heavier set.

  “Do you remember who I told you he is?” asked Butler.

  Finn nodded.

  “Alexander Drake.”

  “Take a look at this,” said Butler as he walked to the middle of the basement.

  A discoloured sheet covered a circular table.

  Butler removed the sheet to show the table swathed in a blue velvet cloth which overhung the table by about three feet.

  Finn walked around the table and the first thing that struck him were the two red circular patterns etched into the fabric of the cover overhanging the table.

  “The two archetypons,” said Finn.

  “Archetypa, the plural is archetypa.”

  “The two archetypa,” repeated Finn comparing them to his ring.

  “And this should have been embossed here,” said Butler as he held the third archetypon which Finn had discovered the other day, and pointed to the other side of the cover.

  “Unfortunately time wasn't on our side to have this added to that beautiful cover, it would have finished it nicely,” said Butler in a light hearted voice. “And had we added it to the cover way back then, we wouldn’t have been in the predicament we are now. But since you’ve worked so hard and have found the third one, we can move forward and complete what we should have finished just over two hundred years ago.”

  On the table were three ornate carved wooden boxes. On the top of each box lay a blue cushion. Each cushion was stitched with a pentagram.

  The instant Finn saw the cushions he knew what they were.

  “Do you remember now?” asked Butler.

  Finn ran his finger over the table and nodded.

  “This was my home.”

  “It still is, I’ve just been looking after it for you.”

  Finn looked at Butler but he was no longer there. In his place stood a short man, with a blue ink tattoo across his cheek.

  “Joseph Morris!” said Finn and stared in disbelief.

  “Alexander my friend, welcome home.”

  Morris pulled up a chair and Drake sat down. His legs shook as he took on board what was happening.

  “Joseph. You’ve done it, you’ve really done it,” said Drake.

  Morris flashed a toothless smile.

  “And which poor bastard has had to put up with me infiltrating their life?” asked Drake.

  “Finn Maynard.” replied Morris and handed him an old mirror from the corner of the basement.

  Drake took the mirror, wiped away the dust and looked at his reflection. The dim candle made it difficult to see his face in detail, but there was enough light for him make out the uncanny resemblance to when he was alive in the nineteenth century.

  “He’s rather handsome,” whispered Drake.

  Morris smiled and took back the mirror.

  “It’s taken a long time to find the right one. But there’s no mistake, Maynard is our man. He’s the one who worked out the third archetypon.”

  Morris handed the paper to Drake.

  “So with this you will be able to find Mathias, providing he’s still out there somewhere,” said Drake.

  “Don’t worry Alexander, he’s out there. And since I’ve had the third archetypon I’ve picked up a few vibra
tions. It’s already drawing me to him.”

  “If you hadn’t fucked up in the first place we wouldn’t be where we are now,” said Drake in a raised voice.

  Joseph Morris dropped his head and took a step back.

  “I know, and now I’m aware of how stupid I was. I panicked and I should have remained calm. After it was obvious William and Louisa were dead and after I’d killed Alice I thought we no longer needed Mathias. I thought everything had been ruined.”

  “So you dumped him in the village pond!”

  “But as soon as I realised we may still need the boy I went back. I looked for his body, but it wasn’t there. Alexander, there’s no way he could have survived. He was five years old, and that pond was frozen. I’d dropped him through the ice, he disappeared under the water.”

  Drake shook his head.

  “Well, whatever happened he’d gone. Whether he’d crawled out, was saved or was pulled out dead, he wasn’t there when you went back…… and therein lies the problem.”

  “But with the third archetypon I’ll find him."

  “What month is it?” asked Drake.

  “December.”

  “Well Mr. Morris, you have weeks, maybe only days.”

  Morris nodded.

  “You’ve got your work cut out too Alexander.”

  “I know. Do you know exactly where they are?”

  “They’re beneath Maynard's house.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Alexander, I’m sorry I fucked up with Mathias, and I'll put things right, but you need to believe me when I say how hard I’ve worked to find those kids and I can pinpoint where they are.”

  “But the problem is that when I leave this old house, Finn Maynard will return, and to him I will be nothing but an echo. I’ll be a vague memory rattling around the corridors of his confused mind.”

  “You’d be surprised how easy he is to manipulate. Don’t forget, he’s the only one who worked this out,” said Morris holding the third archetypon.

  “Okay, we’d better get to work. Take me back to his house and I’ll get started.”

  The two old friends climbed the stairs and left the basement.

  “What about Donaldson, the nanny?” asked Drake.

  “She’s still around in one form or another,” replied Morris.