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

by Andrew Stafford

  Morris hit the remote and the huge metal gates slowly opened. Snow walked behind the car as it quietly coasted along the gravel drive.

  Drake climbed from the car and looked in awe at the house. He had no recollection of being there earlier that week. He ran his fingers along the stone work. Suddenly, memories of living there and being one of Bristol's most influential men came rushing back.

  Morris watched from the car. He didn’t have time to let Drake reminisce, but allowed him a few minutes to take on board what was happening to him.

  Drake looked up at the building. Not much of the mansion had changed since he’d lived there. He turned and looked through the gate. He remembered the fields and lanes that had surrounded it back in the eighteen hundreds'. He was grateful to Joseph Morris, who'd been looking after the place in one form or another since Drake died in eighteen forty one.

  "What are your intentions?" said Morris as he climbed from the car.

  Drake came around from his dreamlike state.

  "My intentions?" asked Drake quizzically.

  "If it's alright with you and Mr. Snow, I'd like to get things started and I'd like you to come too."

  Morris unlocked the door and stood in the great hallway. He turned to face Drake, whose memories were flooding back.

  "Alexander, haven't you forgotten something?" asked Morris.

  Drake looked at Morris blankly and shook his head.

  "The skulls, they're in the car."

  Drake stepped outside and returned with them.

  Snow took a step closer and inspected the patterns on each skull.

  "I'd never thought I'd see the day. Can I hold them?"

  Drake deftly passed the skulls to Snow who held them with care. He marvelled at the ‘pagan like’ patterns.

  “Sent from the Devil himself,” he said under his breath, and then returned them to Drake.

  “Okay you two, there’ll be time for that later. We must go to the basement and prepare, there's plenty of work to do.”

  Morris opened the hidden door and descended the rickety stairs. Snow and Drake were close behind.

  “What about the other skull?” whispered Snow.

  “He doesn’t have it,” replied Drake.

  Morris stopped, turned to face them and threw them an icy glare.

  Drake lit the candles while Snow and Morris retrieved the ceremonial costumes from the tall wardrobe at the back of the basement.

  “They look as fine as they did two hundred years ago,” remarked Snow as he ran his fingers over his attire. He admired the blue and silver cloak. The gold pentagram looked resplendent as it shimmered in the candlelight.

  Drake placed the skulls in a box in the corner. He walked over to the table in the centre of the basement and removed the cloth which had protected it since the three men were last together.

  The three wooden boxes with ornate carvings were equally spaced upon the table. On each box lay a blue cushion with an emblem of a pentagram. He removed the cushions and opened each box which contained a small pewter saucer.

  “Rupert, please could you pass me the blood?”

  Snow replaced the costumes in the wardrobe and took a silver container from a shelf below the portrait of Alexander Drake. He looked at the picture which was painted when Drake had been in his thirties. In the painting he wore a beautiful fitted tailcoat over a starched white shirt with a chin high neck and an ornate cravat which at the time was de rigueur. On the breast of the tailcoat was the Drake family crest. Snow glanced at the man standing at the table. The likeness was uncanny. He handed the container to Drake.

  Drake sprinkled dry animal blood in each of the pewter saucers and closed the lids of the boxes.

  Snow and Morris hauled a heavy wooden chair from beside the wardrobe and placed it in front of the circular table

  The three men spent the next few hours hanging emblem embossed tapestries from the walls and made final preparations for the following day.

  By ten o'clock everything was ready. They ascended the stairs and left the basement. Morris was hot. He walked to the front door, opened it and let the cold winter air chill his skin. He took half a dozen steps along the driveway and rested against the bonnet of the Rolls Royce.

  Morris reached into his trouser pocket and took out the envelope in which was the copy of the third archetypon which matched the pattern on the back of Mathias’ skull. He studied it in the bright glow of the security light which had turned on when he’d set foot on the driveway.

  The sound of a bird cawing distracted him as it circled overhead. Morris looked upwards but saw nothing in the dark sky. He heard it again, and this time it was louder. The raven swooped from eves of the mansion and settled alongside Morris on the bonnet of his car.

  “Get your claws off my car,” laughed Morris as he tickled the bird’s head. The raven gurgled, hopped from the car and strutted across the gravel drive.

  “How on earth am I going to find the little bastard,” muttered Morris as he looked at the pattern on the A4 sheet of paper.

  The raven gurgled.

  Morris was tired. He rubbed his eyes, folded the paper and was about to place it in his pocket when the raven hopped up and snatched the paper from Morris’ hand with its beak. It looked at Morris and cocked its head to one side.

  “Give that back,” demanded Morris.

  The bird strutted away from him with the folded paper in its bill. Morris cautiously took two steps towards the raven who hopped and strutted further away.

  “Don’t play games, I need that.”

  The raven sprung into the air and flew away.

  “Come back you little shit.”

  The raven soared over Morris’ head and landed on the roof of the car. Morris shuffled towards the bird, mindful not to scare it. Just as he could reach out and grab it, the bird jumped down to the drive and hopped towards the gate before taking off again. It circled the driveway and landed on the gate. It stared at Morris as if it was taunting him to climb the gate. Morris gingerly walked over, stopped at the gate and looked up at the bird. The raven flew from the gate to a street lamp across the road. Morris hit the green button on a control panel behind the hedge, and the gate slowly opened. He stepped out of the driveway, onto the pavement and walked towards the street lamp. The raven watched him with the paper still in its beak. Morris got to the streetlight, but the bird flew off and landed on the next lamp.

  “It wants me to follow,” muttered Morris.

  He turned on his heels and ran back to the mansion.

  “Alexander, Rupert… quick, come outside.”

  Drake and Snow ran along the hall to find an agitated and excited Morris.

  “The raven, he wants me to follow him. I think he'll take me to Mathias.”

  The men glanced at one another with a look of doubt.

  “Listen, we need to follow the bird. It has the picture of the archetypon in its beak and it’s waiting for me in the street.”

  Drake shrugged his shoulders and turned to Snow.

  “We’ve nothing to lose,” said Snow.

  Butler opened the door of the Rolls Royce.

  “Quickly, get in. We mustn't lose the bird.”

  The black car purred as it passed through the gateway and onto the road. Snow wound down the window and craned his neck to see the bird.

  "Joseph is right, the raven has something in its beak."

  "It's the archetypon," said Morris.

  The car approached the street lamp, and the bird took off, flew to the end of the road and stopped at a 'T' junction. Morris drove towards the bird which took off again and flew to the left, towards the city and stopped on the roof of a bus shelter.

  Drake couldn't believe his eyes. "Morris is right. The bird is leading us somewhere."

  "What did I tell you?" grinned Morris. "It's taking us to Mathias."

  He turned to Drake and Snow.

  "The raven is leading us to the third skull."

  Chapter 75

  “What d
id you tell mum and dad?” asked Sophie.

  “That we were invited to a Christmas party, I told mum it was to do with work.”

  “And they believed you?”

  “I think so, and they’re happy to look after Jack and Rosie if we’re back late in the morning.”

  “Jesus Heather, how long to you expect us to be out?”

  Heather shrugged her shoulders.

  Tears welled in Sophie’s eyes.

  “I’m scared, I mean really scared. What the hell are we doing?”

  Heather stood up and tried her best to sound confident.

  “First, we’re getting your husband back, and secondly……..,” Heather’s voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard.

  “And secondly we’re stopping the Devil from walking the earth,” said Sophie finishing her sister’s sentence for her.

  Neither of them could believe what was happening. Had Heather really been given the responsibility of stopping the Devil? She wished it had been a dream from which she would soon awake.

  “Shouldn’t we take something with us?” asked Sophie.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a wooden stake and a cross?”

  “It’s not a bloody vampire we’re stopping, it’s the Devil.”

  “Although I guess these may come in handy,” said Heather as she picked up two torches.

  “It'll be very dark and very cold, we have to make sure we'll be warm.”

  The two young women put on winter coats and warm hats. Sophie pulled two pairs of gloves from a drawer and handed a pair to her sister.

  At eleven twenty-five they left the house and made their way to St Michael on the Mount Without.

  Half an hour later they parked at the bottom of the St Michael’s Hill. The church was silhouetted against low cloud which had an orange glow cast by the streetlights below.

  “Shall we?” said Heather and nervously looked at her sister.

  They climbed the steep steps leading to the church and stopped when they reached the fence enclosing the graveyard.

  “It’s different,” exclaimed Heather.

  “Why?”

  “It’s always an overgrown mess. Normally, Charles Nash’s grave is the only one that can be seen. The others are hidden by brambles.”

  “I guess someone from the council has been busy tidying up?” suggested Sophie.

  Heather pushed the gate which creaked as it opened and pointed to Nash’s grave.

  “It’s that one.”

  “What’s the time?" asked Sophie.

  “Shit, I don’t know. I don’t have my watch.”

  The Great George Bell struck twelve in the nearby tower of the Wills Memorial Building which answered Sophie’s question.

  “Okay, I guess it’s now or never.”

  There wasn’t a soul around and the sisters huddled together, crouched against the wall of the church.

  Heather looked at the other gravestones.

  “I had no idea there were so many graves in this churchyard.”

  She stood up and walked to Nash’s grave. Next to it was another which was equally weathered and worn. She shone her torch on it, but the inscription was even more faded than the one on Nash’s.

  Heather turned round when she heard Sophie talking quietly to herself.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sophie didn’t answer, she continued to speak in a hushed tone. After a few seconds she stopped.

  “I was praying, maybe you should do the same.”

  “Perhaps we should have brought a Bible with us,” suggested Heather.

  She reached beneath her coat and touched Elizabeth’s cross which hung around her neck.

  “I have a bad feeling about tonight,” said Sophie. “I’ve seen what that man Butler is capable of, and we don’t stand a chance,” she added.

  “Don’t forget about Drake, somewhere deep within is Finn. Perhaps you can appeal to him and get him on our side?”

  Heather held the cross between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Something tells me we'll be okay,” said Heather trying to appear optimistic.

  Heather remembered what Elizabeth had told her on the night she appeared in her bedroom.

  ‘Heather, you're blessed with the veil of tears. Few have been chosen and you're the lucky one who has. Be brave, good is on your side. Believe in good, always believe in good.’

  “How can you be sure?” replied Sophie.

  “Because God is with us, we must believe and have faith.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Just as Sophie spoke, a huge black bird landed on the rails surrounding the graveyard.

  The sisters watched it hop along the railings. It was as black as the night was dark. They could barely make it out.

  “What’s that crow doing?” said Sophie.

  “That’s too big for a crow, it’s a raven….. and look, it has something in its beak.”

  Sophie turned to her sister.

  “A raven, are you sure?”

  “Definitely, it’s a raven.”

  Sophie cast her mind back to the day she, Finn and Rosie moved into their house. The day Rosie had been scared by a huge bird she’d seen in her bedroom. No one other than Rosie had seen it, although there was a pile of black feathers and the form of a bird which had crashed into the bedroom window from the inside.

  “This must be a sign,” said Sophie.

  “What kind of sign?”

  “I’m not sure, but we had a raven in the house, the one that scared Rosie.”

  Heather said nothing as the bird jumped from the railing and strutted towards Nash’s grave. It stopped at the grave and cocked its head.

  “It's holding something in its beak,” said Sophie.

  Heather squinted her eyes. “It's a piece of paper.”

  Sophie ‘shushed’ her sister.

  “What was that?”

  “Car doors,” replied Heather in a whisper.

  “Listen, there're footsteps, someone’s coming this way.”

  “Not someone, there’s more than one person,” said Heather.

  They stood up, scurried from the grave and ducked around the other side of the church.

  Morris, Snow and Drake trudged up the steep steps to the graveyard.

  “I hate churches,” said Drake, “stupid Christian do gooders.”

  “Don’t worry my friends. After today, everything will be different,” said Morris with a grin.

  Snow was the first to see the raven who strutted excitedly between two gravestones. The paper with the archetypon was still in its beak.

  “Over there, look, the raven.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Morris, sounding smug.

  The three men approached the bird which clucked as they came closer. Drake put his arm out and the bird jumped up and landed on his shoulder. Morris put his hand out toward the raven who dropped the paper in his palm. Morris unfolded it and shone a torch at the archetypon.

  “Gentleman, shall we?” said Morris gesturing at the gravestones.

  “Is one of these graves Mathias’?” asked Drake.

  “Yes, Azazel has given us a sign, the bird has led us to the grave.”

  The raven jumped down and hopped between Nash’s grave and the one next to it.

  “But which one?” said Snow, “Neither of them have a name, the inscriptions are weathered away.”

  “It can’t be that one, Mathias was five when I dumped him in the pond, whoever is buried there died many years later,” said Morris, pointing to Nash’s gravestone.

  Drake stepped forward and placed a foot on the grave next to Nash’s. He knelt forward and pressed his hand against the slab of stone, and as he did, a surge of electricity raced through his body. Snow and Morris looked as Drake was thrown backwards by an invisible force. He lay on his back in a pile of decomposed leaves.

  “What just happened,” said Drake, rubbing the palm of his hand.

  “I think you’ve found M
athias’ grave,” said Morris with a glint in his eye. “Alexander, please go with Rupert and get the tools from the boot.”

  Morris tossed the car keys to Snow, and the two men made their way back to the Rolls Royce.

  Morris waited alone and contemplated the enormity of what was about to happen. He looked at the grave and envisaged Mathias’ skull lying in the casket below. He shuddered in the cold of the winter air, blew on his hands to warm them up and then pushed them into his pockets. In his right pocket he felt something soft. He pulled out the toy bear that Drake found in the well. The bear that almost brought Finn back. The stupid toy that had very nearly put an end to everything that he, Drake, Snow and Cromwell had set out to achieve. He tossed it towards the far wall of the church. It landed and bounced out of view and around the corner.

  Sophie and Heather watched the three men from the corner of the churchyard and had gone unnoticed.

  The bear landed at Sophie’s feet.

  “What the hell?” she muttered under her breath and leant forward to pick it up.

  “What is it?” whispered Heather.

  Sophie didn’t answer. She turned the bear over and inspected it.

  "No, it can’t be."

  She ducked further away from Morris, around the corner and to the furthest side of the graveyard. She pulled the torch from her pocket and shone it on the bear.

  "It’s Rosie’s."

  She turned it over and read the label hanging from the back.

  ‘To Rosie, my favourite granddaughter’.

  She remembered Rosie saying she’d given Amy bear to William so he could let Louisa have it.

  How the hell did it get here? she thought to herself.

  Heather crept over.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Rosie’s bear. Mum gave it to her a few years ago.”

  “Shush,” said Sophie, “they’re coming back.”

  Drake and Snow hauled the heavy canvas bag of tools up the steps and into the graveyard.

  “Okay, let’s get a move on,” said Morris unzipping the tool bag and pulling out a crowbar.

  “Come on, give me a hand.”