Heather and Sophie peered under the cover of darkness as the three men worked to remove the tombstone.
“That’s not Nash’s grave,” whispered Heather.
“Whose is it?”
“I’ve no idea, but they’re digging up the wrong body.”
“Shouldn’t we be trying to stop them?”
“No, not if they’re not interfering with Nash. Besides, I don’t think we could stop them, we’ve seen what Morris can do.”
Sophie and Heather still saw two completely different people when they viewed the same man. Heather saw the short ugly man with the tattooed face, whilst Sophie saw the tall, silver haired distinguished gentleman. It didn’t matter how he appeared, both sisters regarded what they saw as pure evil.
The three men found it easier than expected to lever the heavy stone on to its side and lower it to the ground several feet away from the grave it had marked for the past one hundred and sixty six years.
“I don’t have a good feeling,” said Drake.
“What are you sensing Alexander?” asked Snow.
“Something isn't right.”
The raven continued to strut excitedly from Nash’s grave to the patch of soil which had been covered by the other gravestone.
“Come on men, let’s put our backs into it. If we work as a team, we’ll reach the coffin in a couple of hours,” said Morris whilst handing out spades.
Heather and Sophie huddled against each other to keep warm whilst the evil men dug into the ground.
For every shovel full of soil Drake removed he became wearier. He wasn't tired physically, but was drained mentally.
An hour later Drake could dig no more.
“Sorry Joseph, I need a break.”
“Not now Alexander, we're nearly there.”
Drake couldn’t hear Morris’ voice. He was overcome by a high pitched ringing and his vision became blurred. He staggered and dropped to his feet.
Snow put down his spade and checked on Drake.
“He’s unconscious.”
“Okay, leave him. We’ll worry about him later. We need to work harder. It's just you and me.”
The only sounds were the steady repetitive thud of spades, and the wheezes as Snow and Morris continued to excavate their way to the coffin. Other than Morris, Snow and Drake there was no one else around, apart from the two scared sisters crouching behind the corner wall of the church.
“What was that?” said Snow as his spade hit something solid.
Snow beat the blade of his spade downwards and each time both men heard the dull thud of the spade against wood.
They spent the next fifteen minutes clearing the last of the soil from the lid of the coffin.
“That’s it,” spluttered Morris, “We’re there, get the crowbar.”
Snow lugged himself out of the hole which was nearly as deep as he was tall, and threw the crowbar to Morris, nearly hitting him on the head.
“Careful you clumsy bastard,” joked Morris.
Morris found it difficult in the confined space to wrench open the lid. He dug his feet into the soil with his legs astride the coffin and jammed the crowbar into the head end of the casket. The wood was old and rotten. Morris hacked at the lid until it came away from the coffin.
“Rupert, go to the tool bag and get me the rope.”
Snow did as Morris asked and dropped the fifteen foot length of rope to him. Morris passed the rope under the end of the lid he’d wrenched from the coffin and tied a knot.
“Catch this,” shouted Morris and threw the other end of the rope out of the hole to Snow. Morris climbed out of the hole and instructed Snow to stand with him at the foot end of the grave. They held the rope and after the count of three pulled with all their strength.
The sound of splintering wood tore through the still night air as the lid became detached from the coffin.
Snow dragged the lid from the hole and Morris shone his torch into the casket.
He shook his head in disbelief.
Rupert Snow peered over Morris’ shoulder and gawked at the remains in the coffin. Both men recognised the faded clothes shrouding the skeleton.
“Joseph, I have to say, he’s the last person I expected to find tonight.”
Chapter 76
Linda lay in the double bed alone. She’d placed the stone head on Kieran’s pillow and felt the heat radiate from it.
She’d had a huge row with her husband because of the evening’s work he’d agreed to do for Gabriel Butler. Kieran was ordered to sleep in the guest bedroom. Linda was fuming with him. Although she was tired to the core, she couldn’t sleep. She stared at the head and wondered where it came from. And who the girl was who’d dropped it on the bonnet of the car?
At just after three am she fell into a light sleep which brought her no rest. Her sleep was plagued with awful dreams of disaster, death and fire as she rolled from side to side in bed.
Had she been awake she may have noticed a tear roll from the eye of the stone head and land upon the pillow.
Chapter 77
Rupert Snow sipped whisky from a hipflask which Morris had the foresight to bring with him.
Drake stirred as he regained consciousness.
“Are you going to tell him or shall I?” asked Snow.
“I’ll do it,” replied Morris.
“Hang on, won’t we have a paradox on our hands?”
Morris looked at him and shook his head.
Drake sat up and shivered.
“Have a sip of this,” said Morris offering his hipflask.
Drake took a large gulp and shuddered as the whisky hit the back of his throat.
“How are you my friend?”
Drake looked around recalling where he was.
“I’ve been better, I must have fainted.”
He stared through the darkness and saw the pile of earth and the coffin lid.
“Did you find Mathias?”
“No, it's not Mathias’ grave,” said Snow.
Drake looked dejected. Morris offered his hand and helped him to his feet. Drake walked to the edge and peered into the grave. He sensed an air of awkwardness as Snow shuffled uneasily by his side.
“Who is it?” asked Drake.
Morris passed him the torch. Drake shone the light on the skeleton. And then he saw it.
“Fuck!”
Drake saw his family crest on the tailcoat which adorned the skeleton. The same tailcoat he wore when he posed for the picture hung in the basement of his home.
“Shit, is that me?”
“Sorry Alexander, this has come as quite a shock to us,” said Morris.
He sat beside the grave and peered back down.
He couldn’t believe that he was looking at his own skeleton.
Shit! That’s really me down there, he thought as he recognised his boots. He shuddered and became nauseous.
After a few minutes he composed himself and turned to Morris
“My feet are facing east. They gave me a bloody Christian burial. Why did they bury me in a church?”
“I don’t suppose many people were aware you worshipped the devil. It wouldn’t have been great for business if they had.”
Drake recalled how in life he kept his beliefs private, only sharing them with a few close friends, which included Snow and Morris. He had been a successful and influential entrepreneur and understood if his business associates had known of his preoccupation with the Devil, it would have seriously affected commerce.
“But why bury me here, why so far from where I lived?”
“Look at the name of this place, St Michaels on the Mount Without'," said Snow pointing the sign above the entrance.
"It's because it was originally outside of the walls of the city," he added.
“What difference would that have made?”
“If I remember correctly, you’d upset many people,” said Snow with a grin, “and in particular, you fell out of favour with the mayor of Bristol, John Kerle Haberfield.”
>
Drake smirked, he recalled upsetting many people towards the end of his life.
“Yes, I was a bastard, wasn’t I!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if the reason you’re buried here was because the city disowned you,” grinned Snow, “this is only conjecture, as both myself and Mr Morris had died a few years before you, and neither of us have any idea what happened.”
“So, if we don’t have Mathias’ skull, what are we supposed to do next?” asked Drake, who was still shaken by what he’d seen.
Morris was going to speak when the raven reappeared and became extremely animated. It jumped back and forth between the coffin lid and Nash’s grave. The bird settled on Nash’s gravestone and scratched with its talons and scraped its beak over the stone.
“It’s still trying to tell us something,” said Snow.
“Yeah, it's saying the two of you have dug the wrong grave,” grunted Drake.
No one answered.
“Okay, we're out of time. I hope the bird’s got it right this time. Let’s start work again."
Snow groaned.
Sophie and Heather watched from the corner of the church. They had no idea what the men were saying and weren't aware of Drake’s skeleton. When Heather saw Morris plunge the crowbar under Nash’s gravestone she let out an audible gasp, then clasped her hand over her mouth.
“What was that?” said Morris, stopping what he was doing.
“It came from over there,” replied Drake, pointing towards the sisters.
Heather and Sophie had nowhere to hide. They backed away, but were trapped against the railings surrounding the graveyard.
Morris turned the corner and shone his torch.
“Hello, who do we have here?”
He took several steps closer and knelt in front of the two young women who were crouched and cowering together.
Sophie squinted as he aimed the torch at her face.
“We've met before, you’re Finn Maynard’s wife…… and who’s this pretty young thing?”
The sisters didn’t answer.
“Mr. Drake and Mr. Snow will take you somewhere comfortable.”
Snow took Sophie by her arm and Drake took Heather. Sophie felt a chill as Snow’s hand brushed her skin. He was colder than the evening air, as if he had no blood in his veins. Heather found it hard to comprehend she was so close to her brother-in-law without him knowing who she was. She had to remind herself that it was Alexander Drake and not Finn.
Snow and Drake marched them to the other side of the graveyard, forced them to sit and tied them to the railings. Morris tied a scarf tightly around their mouths to stop them from calling for help.
“I guess one of you was sent to stop us by that bitch Alice Donaldson,” said Morrison with a snarl.
Heather watched the men walk to Nash’s gravestone. She struggled to free herself but couldn’t and resigned to the fact she’d failed.
The men raised the heavy stone and she pondered what on earth she could have done to protect Nash? How could she have been expected to stop them from desecrating the grave? She struggled to understand what they wanted with Nash. It was the skull of William and Louisa’s brother they needed, not Charles Nash’s.
“I still don’t understand how this can be Mathias’ grave. Whoever is buried here died in eighteen thirty nine, that’s thirty-four years after Mathias died,” said Morris.
“But how can you be sure he died?” said Drake.
“Listen I’ve told you. I dumped him through the ice of a frozen pond. There was no way he could have survived, he was only five for fuck’s sake.”
“But when you went back to retrieve him He Wasn't There,” shouted Drake.
“HE DIED I TELL YOU,” snapped Morris.
“In that case, why are we wasting our time excavating this bloody grave,” said Snow.
The raven became agitated again and hopped back and forth across Nash’s grave.
“Because the bird’s telling us something. It knows something we don’t. So let’s stop talking and keep digging,” said Morris.
Snowflakes fell as the men continued to dig. Heather watched knowing she had to intervene. She needed to tell them they were digging the wrong grave as this may stop them from getting to Nash. She’d heard their conversation. If it was a boy called Mathias they were looking for, then they should dig elsewhere.
Heather needed to talk with them. She struggled and tried to shout, but the scarf muffled her voice. Her arms were tied behind her back and her hands secured to the railings. She stamped her feet, but the men were making too much noise digging down to Nash’s coffin to notice her.
Morris stopped and took a sip from his hipflask. He handed it to Drake, who dropped his spade and took the flask. Heather tried to gain their attention again. She wriggled and stamped her feet until she caught Drake and Morris’ eye.
“Someone excited,” joked Drake, handing the flask back to Morris.
Morris slipped it back into his pocket and walked over to the women. He knelt to Heather’s level.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked in a patronising tone.
Heather nodded.
“This had better be important,” he said and undid the scarf and removed it from her mouth.
“You’re digging the wrong grave,” said Heather breathlessly.
“And how would you know?”
“Because Alice has sent me, and I know things. And I'm certain that's not the right grave.”
Morris cocked his head to one side and didn’t speak, which urged Heather to continue.
“You’re digging for a boy right? A boy called Mathias? I can assure you the grave doesn’t belong to anyone called Mathias.”
“Okay, you have my attention. Tell me, to whom does it belong?”
Heather considered what she was doing. The whole thing was absurd. The boy Mathias was who they wanted. Why in Heaven’s name did she need to protect Nash? She decided to tell them to whom the grave belonged. She hoped that by telling them, they would stop the excavation of Nash’s grave.
“The grave belongs to Charles Nash.”
“Who?” said Morris shaking his head.
“Charles Nash. I’ve no idea who he is, but that’s who's buried there.”
Morris could tell by the desperate look in her eyes she was telling the truth.
He turned to Drake and Snow, who were by the side of Nash’s grave.
“It appears Mathias isn’t buried here, the grave belongs to a man called Charles Nash. Does that name mean anything to you?”
They shook their heads.
“She’s lying,” shouted Snow.
Morris shook his head and turned back to Heather.
“Is this what Alice Donaldson told you?”
Heather didn’t answer.
“Speak!” shouted Morris.
“I can assure you there is no one by the name of Mathias in that grave. It’s a man called Charles Nash, and that’s all I can tell you.”
Morris walked back to the others.
“She’s not lying, I can read her like a book. Time is running out, we need to decide what to do. We either stop what we’re doing, or we keep digging and see what surprise Charles Nash has in store for us.”
Snow thought hard about the name Nash. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall why he knew it.
“We’re wasting our time,” grunted Drake.
“Mr Snow, what's your opinion?” asked Morris.
He didn’t answer. He was trying to remember why the name Nash was familiar. And then it came to him. He turned to the two men.
“Do either of you recall that ‘do good’ Baptist minister?”
“You mean the one who was always swanning around the community sticking his nose into everyone’s business?” said Drake.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” said Snow, nodding his head, “he was Reverend Paul Nash.”
“Did he have any family, any offspring?” asked Morris.
“I don’t think so, bu
t I’m not certain. I know little of him, but I am aware he had a wife.”
“Maybe he had a brother?” suggested Drake.
The men pondered what to do. Should they carry on digging, or give up now and use the final hours leading up to the ceremony to search elsewhere for Mathias? They were fresh out of ideas. Morris had nowhere else to look.
The raven interrupted them, it perched on the headstone of a nearby grave and frantically croaked and gurgled. It flew from the grave and landed on the spade thrust into the soil by Snow.
It became even more agitated, hopped from the spade and strutted across the earth which covered Nash’s grave.
“We should continue digging,” said Snow as the bird vied for their attention.
“Rupert’s right,” said Drake, “the bird led us here from the other side of the city. It’s even taken us to my grave, and although I feel a pang of reluctance, I agree we should keep digging.”
The three men agreed that they should continue to dig the grave and hope for the best.
Heather dropped her head in sorrow. She had tried her best which was all she could do. She felt useless and helpless.
Heather had let Charles and everyone else down.
It was just after six when they broke through to the coffin. The morning was as dark as midnight. Heather and Sophie were shivering, even though Morris had thrown a blanket over them.
Snow, Morris and Drake stood on the edge of the hole and took a breath.
“Good work,” said Morris as he put his arms around the shoulders of his colleagues.
“Do you mind if I rest up for a few minutes?” said Snow. “I need to keep my energy levels up for tonight.”
They stood in silence and finished the last of the whisky.
Heather squeezed Sophie’s hand. Neither of them knew what to expect, and the suspense of watching Drake, Snow and Morris doing nothing was killing them.
“Shall we?” said Morris placing the empty hipflask in his pocket.
Drake and Morris climbed back into the hole and worked to remove the lid.
“Open you bastard,” cursed Drake as he jammed the crowbar beneath the lid.
The Third Skull (Book Two - The Revelation): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller Page 12