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

by Andrew Stafford

  His melancholy outlook didn’t last more than a few hours as luckily for him he’d been roped into a tradition that Sophie’s family repeated every New Year’s Day since she and her sister could remember. Sophie’s parents insisted on a first of January family walk, no matter what the weather. This year Heather had suggested a drive to Sand Bay, along the coast from Weston-Super-Mare. The beach was quiet with a mix of pebbles, sand and when the tide was out, a gloopy clay that Rosie loved to stomp through wearing her Peppa Pig wellington boots.

  Finn parked alongside Heather’s car just behind the beach. The morning was mild, but the breeze from the Bristol Channel made him shudder as he got out of the car. Heather and her parents had arrived ten minutes earlier and were sitting on a large upturned tree stump. John and Grace shared a flask of coffee.

  “Happy New Year!” called Finn as he, Sophie and Rosie made their way towards the stump. Jack was jostling from side to side in a baby back carrier as Finn struggled to keep his balance after tripping over a rock.

  Rosie ran ahead and made a beeline for the beach with her bucket and spade.

  “Bless her, she’s so full of life,” remarked John as he reached for his cigarettes.

  “Dad!” called Sophie and Heather in unison. He stopped, grimaced and put the packet back.

  “Why do you want to smoke here? It’s so nice, you’ll spoil it with your stinking fag ends,” said Sophie.

  “He promised that this year he'd stick to his resolution and give up,” added Grace with a look of disgust.

  “Shall we?” said Heather as she stood up and gestured towards the beach.

  The five adults walked along the beach, stopping every now and again to pick up shells and small fossils scattered here and there.

  “I want to take two or three of these rocks and a few pieces of driftwood, they’d be nice in the garden,” said John.

  “You’re not supposed to dad. It’s against the law,” said Heather.

  “Don’t be wet girl, we can take what we want.”

  “She’s right, there was a story in the paper. A woman who took pebbles to decorate her garden and she had a police warning,” added Grace.

  John grunted and moved a piece of driftwood with his foot.

  “At least you can grow things in your garden dad. Our garden is incapable of sustaining plant life.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that. Your front garden’s bare. I’ll come round and help if you want,” suggested John.

  Finn threw a glance at Sophie.

  “Mummy, daddy, look what I’ve found,” called Rosie as she excitedly pointed to the ground.

  The adults trudged towards her and she was poking a large rock with her spade.

  “It looks like a man’s head.”

  John and Grace screwed up their faces as they tried to work out what Rosie could see in the rock.

  “Sorry Rosie, I can’t make it out,” said Grace.

  “Look nanny. Two eyes, a nose and a funny mouth,” said Rosie using her spade to point out which bits of the rock were which.

  “She’s right,” said Heather. “I can see it now.”

  One by one the adults agreed that the rock looked like a head, and if they used their imagination they could just make out eyes, nose and a mouth.

  “Can I take it home?” asked Rosie.

  “Sorry, you’re not allowed. It’s against the law,” said John.

  “Aww, granddad, it’s only a rock.”

  “Why do you want that great big thing?” asked Sophie.

  “I’d paint eyes and a mouth and everything on it. I’d give it a nice happy smiley face.”

  “Okay, I’ll put it behind that big piece of driftwood over there, and we’ll pick it up on the way back, it’s too big to carry with us now.”

  “So it’s okay for Rosie to take stuff from the beach, but not me?” huffed John.

  Nobody answered.

  On the way back to the car park, Heather retrieved Rosie’s rock from behind the driftwood and cradled it in her arms. It was the size of a rugby ball and was a fair old weight. She was exhausted by the time she got to her car and was happy to drop it into the boot.

  “Can I paint it when we get home please mummy?”

  “I might be too busy to help you with it when we get back. I’ve got to cook a nice meal for everyone.”

  “Please please please please mummy,” pleaded Rosie.

  “I’ll help you paint it,” said Heather.

  “You don’t have to Heather, you’ll end up covered in poster paint and you’ll be stuck with her all afternoon.”

  “To be honest I’d prefer to do that than listen to dad moaning.”

  Sophie smiled. “It’s your choice. As long as you don’t mind. Rosie will enjoy that.”

  By early afternoon everyone was shoehorned into Finn and Sophie’s dining room and were tucking into a New Year’s Day meal.

  “When can we paint Charlie?” asked Rosie.

  “Charlie?” said Heather.

  “I'll call him Charlie, he looks like a Charlie,” said Rosie as a carrot fell from her mouth.

  “Okay, when we’ve cleared away the dishes you and Auntie Heather can paint Charlie on the kitchen table. But only if you finish your food.”

  “Okayyyyyy mummy,” agreed Rosie as she drew out her words with a sigh.

  “That meal was amazing Sophie. You and Finn relax and your father and I will tidy everything up,” said Grace.

  John said nothing as Grace threw him a glance.

  After the dishes were washed, the adults watched a film. Sophie fed Jack and Heather covered the kitchen table with newspaper to stop paint from splattering and spoiling the wood. Finn sat in the corner of the lounge and unboxed a laptop given to him as Christmas present by Sophie.

  “Finn, do you mind getting that rock from the car so Heather and Rosie can paint it,” asked Sophie.

  Finn lugged it from the boot of the car and placed it on the table and then continued to set up his new computer.

  Heather and Rosie spent the next hour working on the face. In fairness, Rosie had done most of the painting. Heather was doing her best to keep things tidy.

  When Rosie had finished, Heather was impressed by what she’d done.

  “That’s amazing, you're clever, and he’s scary looking.”

  “I know, he’s supposed to be a skeleton man.”

  Rosie had sketched eyes, an indication where the nose would be, and a big mouth. She’d painted them with black poster paint. When the paint had dried she took her gel pens and drew and coloured individual teeth. Around the circumference of eye sockets she used the gel pens to make a dotted pattern. When she’d finished she sat back in her chair and admired her work.

  “Wow, Rosie that's brilliant,” said Heather.

  “It’s Charlie, the skeleton man.”

  She picked it up and looked at it.

  “It's brilliant, you'll be an artist when you grow up.”

  “Show it to mummy and daddy.”

  Heather checked the paint had dried and carried it to the lounge to show the adults. Rosie was pleased with herself as Sophie, Finn and her grandparents made a big fuss and told her how clever she was.

  “Okay young lady, you need to wash your hands and face, get that paint off and then it’s time for bed,” said Finn.

  “But daddy……. “

  “No arguments, it’s late and time for bed.”

  “Can I take Charlie to bed?”

  “If you like.”

  Rosie kissed her family goodnight and Finn carried her to her bedroom. He read her a story and was going to turn out the light when she sat up in bed.

  “Daddy, you didn’t bring Charlie with you, please can you get him.”

  Finn sighed, went downstairs and returned with the stone head.

  “Put it on the floor, next to my light.”

  Finn placed Charlie next to Rosie’s nightlight, kissed her and closed her door.

  In the darkness of her bedroo
m Charlie’s face was illuminated by the faint orange glow of her nightlight. She didn’t like it. It looked as if he was staring at her with his big black eyes and shiny teeth.

  “Daddy daddy, take him away, he’s scaring me….. I don’t like him.”

  Rosie’s voice filtered through the ceiling. The adults looked at each other and raised their eyebrows.

  “That didn’t last long.” said Finn.

  He traipsed back to her room.

  “Take it away daddy, I don’t want him anymore. He’s frightening me.”

  “Okay, don’t worry, I’ll take him downstairs.”

  “No daddy, put him in the bin I don’t want him. Throw him away.”

  “You don’t mean that, he’s good.”

  “He’s a skeleton man daddy, make him go away.”

  “Okay, okay I’ll take him away, you won’t see him again.”

  Finn brought it downstairs and put it in the lounge.

  “What's wrong with her?” asked Sophie.

  “It’s this, it’s scaring her. She doesn’t want it any more. She asked me to get rid of it.”

  “No, don’t throw him away, he's so good. I’ll have him,” said Heather.

  Finn passed it to Heather who placed it on her lap and stared at the eerie face.

  As the evening continued the conversation died down. Everyone was feeling sleepy. Grace looked at John who’d nodded off.

  Heather became mesmerised by Charlie and felt warmth emanating from the stone. Charlie’s big dark eyes pulled her in. The voices in the room faded. As she continued to be drawn in by the stone skull, she could see her great grandmother’s face superimposed over Charlie’s. Elizabeth appeared youthful as she looked at her great granddaughter. And then she spoke.

  “Heather, Keep Charlie safe. You'll need each other.”

  She held the stone head and rocked from side to side whilst looking deep into its eyes. The vision of Elizabeth had faded, but still, she was engrossed by what she saw. Then she heard another voice.

  “Heather, …… I said it's time to go home.…… your father’s asleep in the chair and I need to get back and feed the cat.”

  Heather sat up and saw Grace standing with her coat on and her handbag by her side.

  “Are you okay? You were a million miles away,” said Grace.

  “Sorry mum, I must have dozed for a minute or two.”

  John woke up after several attempts by Grace to bring him out of his brandy induced slumber.

  Grace and John followed Heather to her car. John carried the painted stone head in a carrier bag. He turned and looked at the hawthorn tree and the barren soil.

  “You’ve got to let me help with this garden. You two have the worst green fingers I’ve ever known.”

  “Goodnight Dad, Happy New Year to you too!” said Sophie as she closed the door.

  From his window Henry Buxton watched Sophie and Finn wave their visitors away. He looked at Heather and saw something in her that reminded him of his mother at a time when she’d been happy and before she’d moved into ‘that house’ with his father.

  Henry was concerned for the Maynard family, and from what he’d recently discovered about his father, he had every right to be.

  Chapter 18

  It had been just over two weeks since Gabriel Butler received the call from Kieran Tempest.

  Butler was a patient man and had been waiting his whole life for what was going to happen. Although he’d been waiting a lifetime, the last couple of weeks seemed a long time, and he was losing patience.

  The legacy which had been passed to him could only be fulfilled when all of the links had been tied. And according to Tempest, Finn Maynard was the final link, the final connection.

  He was definitely ‘the one’.

  Chapter 19

  Henry Buxton spent the last few months researching the families who lived at number 11a before his mother and father.

  In the beginning, he put the recent history of death and suicide down to bad luck. But he'd discovered something that made him change his mind.

  He became overwhelmed by an enormous sense of guilt for selling his father’s house. If he'd known back then what he knew now, he would never have sold it. No wonder the estate agent found it difficult to sell the house. Except for the Maynard family, every potential buyer turned the place down without a decent explanation. Although one young family said they’d decided against it as the ‘vibes weren’t quite right’. Looking back he understood what they meant. Henry agreed to lower the price by twenty thousand below the market value.

  He was relieved when he'd sold the house as he’d debts to settle and could clear his mortgage. Now he wished for the debts to return and the house to stand empty if it meant the chain of events wouldn’t continue.

  After Robert Buxton died, many things needed to be dealt with by Henry as he was the only surviving family member. His spare bedroom became full of paperwork which came from his father’s house and he'd meticulously gone through everything.

  Two months ago he’d found the receipt.

  Henry was going to screw it up when he recognised a name and address scribbled in his father’s writing on the receipt which was over twenty years old. It was dated nineteenth of March nineteen ninety-three, which was two years before his father moved into Whitcombe Fields Road. Robert had sold his car and written a receipt for seven hundred pounds in cash. He’d used a duplicate book and kept a copy for his records. The man who’d bought the car was David Gosling.

  Henry remembered his father selling his Vauxhall Astra to a man who collected it from his house.

  Robert’s scrawling handwriting confirmed that he’d received payment from David Gosling, 11a Whitcombe Fields Road, Bristol.

  Henry couldn't believe the coincidence. Robert Buxton sold his car to a man who'd lived in the house which Robert would be next to own. Henry cast his memory back to just after he moved to the road and remembered an Astra. At the time he hadn’t realised it had been owned by his father.

  He’d remembered Ruth gossiping about the circumstances of David Gosling’s death. She’d said he’d committed suicide after the death of his wife and that he’d died of carbon monoxide poisoning. He’d attached a hosepipe to the exhaust of his car.

  It didn’t taken Henry long to do an internet search and soon he’d found a news report of Gosling’s suicide. He was discovered on an industrial estate in a red Vauxhall Astra.

  He had killed himself in the car purchased from Robert Buxton.

  Henry couldn't believe the connection and it bothered him for weeks. Two suicides, the house and the car.

  Henry recalled a vague story he’d heard of the first family to live in the house and that they'd also met a horrific death. Henry hadn’t lived in Whitcombe Fields Road at the time and so wasn't sure what happened to Shaun and Janet Morrison, the couple who’d lived in the house before David and his wife. But after speaking with a few of the older neighbours he discovered that Shaun drove his car into Bitterwell Lake, with his wife strapped in beside him. Police divers had found Shaun and Janet.

  Lily Johnson had lived in Whitcombe Fields Road longer than anyone else. Although in her nineties, her memory was exceptional.

  Henry called to her house and asked her what she remembered of the death of the Morrison couple. What Lily recalled floored Henry.

  Lily told Henry that the team of divers who’d searched Bitterwell Lake included David Gosling. David, a professional diver, worked for the police and was the diver who’d located the car. He’d seen Shaun and Janet’s bloated bodies strapped into the front seats of the Ford Cortina.

  When he purchased 11a, just as Robert Buxton, he’d no idea of the connection between him and the other owners.

  Henry didn't know that Finn had been on the train which killed his father. The only neighbours who were aware of this were Kieran, his wife and Finn’s next door neighbour Ruth. None of them had any intention of telling Henry.

  Henry’s imagination was working ov
ertime. He was concerned for the young family. Would the sequence of suicides continue? He deliberated whether he should speak with them. But would they take him seriously or consider him a foolish old man?

  He’d told no one what he’d discovered, not even Katherine, his wife.

  He sat on the bed in the spare room and opened the box file. The file which contained the strange paperwork that his father left after his death. Five hundred and eighty eight sheets of A4 paper. Five hundred and eighty five which covered the walls and ceiling of Robert Buxton’s study, and the three which were on him the day he hurled himself in front of the train.

  He held the three sheets, which the police had kept until the autopsy. He'd been thinking of the strange patterns since he’d discovered the link between his father and David Gosling, and Gosling’s link with Shaun and Janet Morrison.

  Was this another link in the horrific chain of events and should he tell Finn Maynard what he'd discovered?

  Henry Buxton didn't know what to do.

  Chapter 20

  Mid-February

  “Hello, what’s your name?”

  “William, my name’s William, you’re Rosie aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Do you want to draw a picture with me? I'll draw my baby brother Jack.”

  “I can watch, but I can’t draw.”

  “Why not? Everyone can draw.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not, can’t you even draw a face?”

  “I can’t hold a pencil, look at this.”

  “Is that magic?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Put your hand out and I’ll put the pencil in your hand, then you can draw with me.”

  “You can try.”

  “That is magic, it fell right through your hand.”

  “I don’t think it's magic.”

  Rosie watched with amazement as the pencil dropped through the little boy’s hand. She wasn’t scared, just baffled by what she saw.