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

by Andrew Stafford

  “Wait there,” said Sophie, and she left the bedroom.

  “Where’s mummy going?” asked Rosie in a frightened voice. She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed listening to the adult’s conversation.

  Heather didn’t answer as she stroked Rosie’s hair.

  A few minutes later Sophie returned with a small blue box and handed it to Heather.

  “Take a look in there.”

  Heather tentatively removed the lid and huffed air through her cheeks when she saw the small silver cross and the tiny statuette of Jesus, with arms outstretched.

  “This was Elizabeth’s, where did you find it?” asked Heather.

  “I remembered coming across it in Mum and Dad’s bedroom when I was small. Nan had handed it down to mum and before that Elizabeth must have passed it to Nan.”

  “It’s beautiful,” said Heather removing it from the box and holding it by the delicate silver chain.

  “I don’t know why mum’s never worn it,” said Sophie.

  “I do,” replied Heather, “because she wanted nothing to do with Elizabeth’s gift. She probably worried that if she wore it, she’d end up speaking with the dead as Elizabeth did.”

  She ran her finger over the tiny silver effigy of Jesus and then stood up, walked to the mirror and put the necklace on.

  She turned to face Sophie who was sniffing the air.

  “It’s that smell,” said Sophie, “the same in the kitchen when William appeared.”

  Heather knew what she meant. It was the same smell Heather had noticed when she’d seen Elizabeth and Charles Nash.

  She turned back around to face the mirror and jolted when she saw Elizabeth standing between her and the glass.

  The heat emanating from the apparition was intense and Heather took two steps back.

  “I’m sorry we’ve not spoken for a while, but something’s been stopping us from seeing each other,” said the vision of Elizabeth.

  Heather stood with her mouth open and gaped in awe at what had materialised in front of her.

  Sophie watched her sister staring into the middle distance.

  “I thought you’d given up on me,” said Heather.

  “No, not at all, never.”

  “What was stopping you?”

  Elizabeth shook her head and looked despondent.

  “I’d prefer not tell you, but what’s important is that you stop what Drake, Morris and the others are planning to do.”

  “They’re planning a ceremony aren’t they, and they need the skulls of the children buried beneath Sophie’s house,” said Heather, not asking, but stating a fact.

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Do you remember the old lady in the churchyard?” asked Elizabeth.

  Heather nodded.

  “Her name was Hermione, and Alice Donaldson had been guiding her for nearly one hundred years and it was her duty to protect Charles Nash and prevent Drake and his gang from doing what they intended. But now she’s passed away, and now Alice is guiding you, or she was, until she was prevented by the force driving Drake and Morris.”

  “The force driving Drake and Morris?” repeated Heather, “you mean the Devil?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “I don’t think Alice can help you anymore, she’s not strong enough to compete with the evil that Drake and his gang have in mind.”

  “You mean the sacrifice, I need to stop the sacrifice.”

  “Yes, but it’s not a sacrifice. It’s an offering to the devil, or Azazel as Drake and Morris refer to it.”

  “But why those skulls, why are the skulls of William and Louisa Drake so important.”

  “Because they carry the mark of the Beast.”

  “Do you mean 666?”

  “I only wish I did. The three sixes are nonsense, they never existed.”

  “But they’re in the Bible, I’ve read it for myself.”

  “Yes, they are in the Bible that you and hundreds of millions of others have read, but that doesn’t mean to say that what the Bible states is entirely factual.”

  Heather looked puzzled. “But why not?”

  “We’ve all read the King James version,” said Elizabeth.

  Heather nodded.

  “Eight members of the Church of England completed the King James version in sixteen-eleven,” said Elizabeth.

  “I'm aware of that, they’d translated it into English,” said Heather.

  “Are you sure? There were, and still are, no original texts of the Bible to translate. The oldest manuscripts which exist were many many years after the last apostle died. There are thousands of old manuscripts and none are alike.”

  Heather listened intently.

  “But even with these ancient manuscripts, the translators used none of them. Instead, they butchered earlier translations and created a version of which their king would approve.”

  “So you're telling me the Bible is made up?” asked Heather.

  “No, not at all, it’s just not entirely correct.”

  “How correct is it?”

  “Well, let me put it this way. Many modern day Christians believe in a Bible written in the seventeenth century, from sixteenth century translations of thousands and thousands of copies of fourth century scrolls, many of which were contradictory and which claim to be copies of lost letters written in the first century.”

  “How can you be sure?” queried Heather.

  “Don’t forget, I’m privy to ‘inside information',” replied Elizabeth pointing upward with a smile.

  “So the mark of the Devil isn’t three sixes.”

  “No, the only similarity is that there are three marks, like the three sixes I suppose. But the original and true mark of the Devil is carried through the bloodline.”

  “Whose bloodline?”

  “The Devil’s. The Beast would have laid with William and Louisa’s mother to ensure she carried on the bloodline and his mark.”

  “But what about the third mark, William and Louisa are twins, they’re brother and sister. You mentioned the third mark of the Beast. Where would that be?”

  “I don't know and luckily neither does Morris or Drake, but Morris won’t let anything stop him until he finds it and he’s running out of time.”

  Heather looked at Elizabeth and tried to take on board what she was saying.

  “So the Devil fathered William and Louisa, did he father another child by another woman?” asked Heather.

  “No, the mother was the same person. She would have given birth to all three at the same time.”

  “So, William and Louisa are two of triplets,” stated Heather.

  “Correct. Drake, Morris and their associates have no way of completing the offering unless they have the three marks of the Beast. The two skulls alone are useless to them.”

  “Why are they intent on making an offering of the three skulls?” asked Heather.

  “Because it will create the worse evil known to mankind. It will give Azazel, the King of Devils, the power to walk among mankind and to carry out his evil.”

  Heather swallowed hard. Why had she been chosen to stop such an immense happening? Why wasn't a senior church person chosen? Why a lowly young woman who hadn’t set foot in a church for years?

  “The Beast has been here in recent times, and has always been defeated by good,” added Elizabeth.

  Heather was stunned.

  “You mean the Devil has walked the earth, in my living memory?”

  Elizabeth nodded, “do the names Hitler, Saddam and Attila the Hun ring any bells?”

  Heather gasped.

  “And I’m expected to stop the next in line?”

  “No, you’re expected to prevent him from ever happening to begin with.”

  Heather paused for reflection as she took on board the momentous task set before her. She took a breath and looked at Elizabeth who was fading.

  “So it’s my job to make sure Drake and Morris don’t find the Third Skull!”

  Chapter 69


  Drake placed both skulls on the kitchen table next to the pink bear he’d found in the well. A smug look crossed his face.

  The raven hopped excitedly in the doorway.

  Morris bent forward and pulled them towards him. With one in each hand he examined the archetypa.

  “I’d never thought I’d see the day,” said Morris, who found it difficult not to show his emotions. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Joseph, I’ve kept my side of the bargain, I’ve retrieved the skulls, and now it’s your turn to find Mathias’. I need not remind you, but without it, all of this has been futile,” said Drake motioning to the skulls and the hole under the kitchen floor.

  Morris ignored him. He replaced the skulls on the table and picked up the bear, examined it and read what was on the label, ‘To Rosie, my favourite granddaughter’.

  “How did that get down there?”

  “I don’t know, but keep it out of my sight. I don’t want a repeat of what just happened,” replied Drake.

  Morris pushed it to the side of the table.

  “So what’s your plan Joseph? You seem pretty laid back about the whole thing. We’re days away from our goal and you’re walking around with your thumb up your ass, while you should be searching for Mathias.”

  Morris stood up and walked over to Drake. The short, rotund man grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the floor with such force, a shock wave ripped through his body.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, I’ve been walking around with my thumb up my ass?” snarled Morris as he stood with his foot pressed hard against Drake’s chest.

  “Don’t intimidate me! I’m the one who’s been single handedly digging that hole, whilst you’ve been reading your stupid book.”

  Morris exerted more pressure with the sole of his foot.

  “Okay my friend, let me take this opportunity to remind you of a few things, which may just overshadow my mistake of losing Mathias.”

  Drake braced himself for a lecture from Morris.

  “First, there’s the small fact that you lost not one, but two of the children in your charge, and that somehow you were cheated by a young woman barely out of her teens, who, by the force of ‘bloody good’, has become our nemesis for the past two hundred years. And second, whilst you’ve been relaxing between earth and hell, I’ve been the one who’s spent every day searching for the kids you’d lost. I’ve kept your soul alive and have brought you back from the dead more times than I care to remember. So Alexander, I think digging that hole is little compared to the shit I’ve had to endure these past two centuries, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Drake nodded silently.

  “Okay,” replied Drake in a pitiful tone, “what’s next?”

  Morris removed his foot from Drake’s chest and stepped back.

  “What’s next? I’ll tell you what’s next. You need to back fill that hole and leave the rest to me.”

  He sat back on a kitchen chair, picked up Middlemarch and continued reading from where he’d left off.

  Drake huffed, got up from the floor and held his hand against his chest. He was irate with Morris and his obsession about that stupid book.

  Chapter 70

  The sisters lay in the bed they’d shared since the fire in Heather’s flat. It had been over an hour since Elizabeth’s visitation and Heather still quivered with shock.

  “You’re telling me you couldn’t see her?” asked Heather.

  “No, but I knew she was there. I could smell dampness and I could feel her heat. I don’t doubt you for an instant,” replied Sophie.

  “Could you hear what we were talking about?”

  “Yes, but only from your side. What did she say?”

  “She’s put me in the picture, and now I know what’s going on.”

  Heather told her sister of the ritual to raise the Devil and Morris and Drake’s need to find the missing third skull.

  “So there were three children,……. triplets, and only two of them are beneath my house. Why not all three?”

  “I'm not sure, but after what Rosie said earlier, it’s my reckoning that Drake and Morris have found William and Louisa, so they’re two thirds of the way there.”

  Heather stared at the ceiling and contemplated the whole bizarre situation.

  “I understand why I need to stop Drake and Morris from finding the third skull, but what I still don’t grasp is what Charles Nash has to do with it. Why would Nash need protecting? He's dead.”

  “Didn’t Elizabeth give you even the slightest idea?”

  “No, although she mentioned the old lady I saw in the graveyard was my predecessor, she's the one who’d been protecting Nash before me, and guided by Alice Donaldson.”

  An idea pinged into Sophie’s head. She turned and looked to her sister.

  “Why don’t you try to speak with the lady in the graveyard, maybe she can tell you what’s so important about Charles Nash?”

  Heather shook her head and Sophie sensed her sister’s frustration. Sophie just didn’t seem to understand how difficult it was to connect with the dead.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help,” sighed Sophie.

  Heather lay still and thought of what Sophie had suggested. She recalled what Elizabeth had told her when she had first materialised in her flat. She said that she used the cross as a channel to speak with the dead. Heather had assumed that the stone head would have been the channel to enable her to speak with Charles Nash and any of the other spirits who had been communicating with her, but it hadn’t proved to be effective. She touched the cross and thought.

  I wonder?

  Heather jumped out of bed and pulled her jeans on.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sophie.

  “I’m going out.”

  “Where, it’s ten thirty?”

  “I’m off to speak with the old lady.”

  It was just after eleven on a cold December night when Heather pushed open the gate to the graveyard of St Michael on the Mount Without, where it had all begun sixteen months earlier.

  She pulled her coat around her to keep away the chill of the night and made her way to Charles Nash’s gravestone. It had been a long time since Heather had been to the graveyard, and Nash’s grave had become overgrown with weeds. The orange glow of a nearby street light made it just possible for Heather to see the gravestone. She knelt on the damp ground and pulled away a handful of weeds.

  After a few minutes she stopped. Her fingers stung with cold. She’d cleared a bundle of weeds and grass and the gravestone looked better. She reached inside her coat, touched the cross around her neck and closed her eyes.

  She recalled the time she spoke with the old lady. As Heather recollected the brief conversation with her she became uncertain whether it had actually happened. It was the night she’d been taken to Frenchay Hospital after being discovered by a passing policeman. The doctors where treating her for exposure due to the cold. But did that ever happen? She recalled how she awoke back in her own bed the following morning with grass and soil on her feet. Elizabeth had spoken to her and explained what took place was ‘a happening’. ‘A midpoint between a dream and reality’.

  Heather shuddered as the cold air permeated through her thick winter coat. She closed her eyes and began.

  “Hermione, we’ve spoken before. My name is Heather and I’ve been chosen to protect Charles Nash. I'm aware of William and Louisa, and that I need to prevent Alexander Drake and Joseph Morris from finding the skull of the other child. But I don’t understand why I need to protect Charles. Please guide me, I really need help.”

  Heather dropped to the floor, lay across Nash’s gravestone and sobbed.

  “Please, I can’t do this on my own. I need help to understand what I have to do.”

  She lay face down upon the stone and put her head in her arms as if she was on her bed with her head on the pillow, and as she did so she became aware of an overwhelming sense of tranquillity. For the first since she could remember Heather felt re
laxed. Every tense muscle in her body loosened.

  The night became mild as if she became enveloped in a radiant warmth. Heather sat up, looked at the church wall and watched her shadow as it danced on the stone of the ancient building.

  She didn't understand why her shadow was so well-defined, the street light alone wasn’t bright enough to cast enough light to create such a distinct shadow. She turned around, and met with the image of a beautiful young woman. The woman cast an enchanting incandescent glow. Heather looked at her face. Her kind eyes looked familiar.

  And then she spoke.

  “Hello Heather,”

  Heather backed up towards the wall of the church.

  “Don’t be scared, I heard you call for help.”

  Heather focussed on her face, then she remembered where she’d seen her before. It was the old lady.

  “You’re Hermione aren’t you? And Alice guided you.”

  “Alice has guided both of us,” replied the ghost of the young woman.

  “But why did she guide you, why were you chosen?”

  “I was Hermione Nash.”

  “Nash, you’re related to Charles?”

  “He was my grandfather.”

  Heather took time to appreciate the enormity of the situation.

  “So you knew Charles?”

  Hermione shook her head.

  “He died a young man, long before I was born.”

  Heather glanced at the faded inscription on his grave.

  Born ----ber 1- --99

  Died September 6 1839

  “How old was he?” whispered Heather.

  “Thirty-nine years old,” said Hermione.

  Heather knew Hermione wouldn’t stay for long. She needed to take advantage of what she understood would be a brief meeting and find out as much as she could about Charles Nash and what he needed protecting from.

  “From what does Charles need protection?”

  “Not what, it’s who he needs protecting from. There are four malignant echoes from the past determined to use my grandfather and involve him in something awful.”

  “What do you mean by echoes?”