 
### The Third Skull

### Book One - The Discovery

### A Paranormal Mystery Thriller

### By Andrew M Stafford

Text Copyright © 2016 Andrew M Stafford

Published by Andrew M Stafford at Smashwords.
All Rights Reserved

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with The Third Skull - Book One – the Discovery, and carries on seamlessly and concludes with The Third Skull - Book Two – The Revelation.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

### Acknowledgments

Thank you to

DC Rob Callaway (Retired)

Beta Readers - Nigel Burrough, Claire Herbert, Sharon Newton and Philip Newton

Penny Rowe for proofreading

Ian CP Irvine for his advice and encouragement

For Kerry, Olivia, Sam, Mum and Sharon.

Especially for Dad.

### Chapter 1

December 14th 1804

James Whitcombe's Field

Bristol

Alice Donaldson ran for her life, not only hers, but also the lives of Louisa and William Drake. The frozen ground cut through the soles of her cloth shoes and the sub-zero air of the winter afternoon burned her lungs as she gasped for breath. She mustn't stop, the dogs weren't far away.

The sun had almost set, giving her the upper hand over her pursuers. She knew James Whitcombe's farmland well and had played there as a child with her two brothers.

She struggled with the wooden handcart which bumped and rattled over the uneven field. If the children had been conscious they would be crying at the top of their voices as the cart jarred their bones whilst Alice navigated ruts and gullies.

The last time Alice had been here she had been eleven years old, and those had been happier times. Ten years had passed, and she hoped the small stone hut at the far end of the field would still be there. She needed somewhere to rest whilst she caught her breath and waited for the stitch to subside. The building would allow her a few minutes to recover and hide with the children from the approaching hounds. Their howling and barking was getting louder as they grew closer.

She staggered over the rise and the stone hut came into view, silhouetted by the setting sun casting a long shadow towards her. Adrenalin fuelled her as she made the two hundred yard dash to the dilapidated building as the children's limp bodies crashed from side to side. The pain in her chest was excruciating as she stumbled the final steps to the hut and pushed open the half rotten wooden door. Alice bundled the children in and laid them on the rough floor. She fought with the rusty hinges and closed the door.

She sat in silence and heard nothing but her pounding heart and the approaching hunt dogs. Alice prayed for a miracle that they wouldn't follow her scent to the hut. Her prayer was answered, the sound of the wailing hounds passed alongside the building, followed by a stampede of hooves and roar of angry voices. The dogs and the riders carried on to the west and away from James Whitcombe's field. Alice's breathing slowed and her heartbeat settled as she took a moment to compose herself. She pulled back a curtain covering the dirty window and watched the shady images of the riders disappear from view.

She turned her attention to the children who lay motionless on the floor. Alice struggled to see in the dimming light of the winter afternoon. As her eyes became accustomed to her surroundings she spotted tools and implements hanging from the wall. A length of rope hung from a hook on a wooden beam. Alice noticed a small shelf on which stood an oil lamp. After several attempts she coaxed a flame from the stubby wick, and the wavering flicker formed shadows that danced around the walls and the ceiling.

She turned to Louisa, the weakest of the siblings, and put her ear to her mouth to check whether the little girl was breathing. Nothing. Her limp body was warm and Alice searched for signs of life. She held the girl's body and cried. She woefully looked at William who lay beside her on the floor. Alice knew by the way his body slumped on the hard stone ground that he too was dead.

Hours of trekking through the countryside on a freezing December day dressed in their nightclothes and morning gowns had been more than their young bodies could endure and the final hour of being jostled and thrown around on the stolen handcart like rag dolls had been the final straw that had ended their young lives.

She lifted William from the floor, and held both children in her arms. Her tears flowed. She sobbed to herself, conscious she should not be heard, even at this time of overwhelming grief. Alice pulled the children closer as her tears rolled down her face and into their hair. After a few minutes she lay both children down, this time making them comfortable by resting them on straw which Alice found bundled in the corner. Even though they were dead she wanted them to lie as if they were sleeping.

Alice needed to think, and she needed to think fast. The children may be dead, but the secret they held must be kept from those from whom she was hiding them. They were as valuable in death as they'd been in life. She bent forward and ran her hand through William's thick blonde hair. Even in the dim light and through the fullness of his shock she could just make out the strange pattern embedded in the back of his head. She turned to Louisa, whose thicker and longer hair concealed her pattern. And even though it wasn't visible, Alice knew it was there.

Alice needed to find somewhere to lay the children to rest, and somewhere their remains could never be found. She sat with her back against the wall and concentrated, trying her hardest to block out the bodies on the floor. She remembered the dry well she used to throw stones into as a child. But where was it? In the past ten years her memory of the farmland was good, but not that good. She recalled the hawthorn tree that stood nearby. If she was able find the tree, then she could find the well. In their youth, Alice and her brothers climbed the tree countless times. She closed her eyes and recalled every bough and foot holding it offered. Alice grabbed the lamp, stood up and pulled her woollen shawl around her shoulders to keep away the biting cold. Outside, she saw how dark the field had become since the sun had set and that the low moon cast a faint light. The well wasn't far from James Whitcombe's dwelling which was a good country mile to the south. She made her way towards the farmhouse and hoped that her instinct and sense of direction would serve her well. She picked up pace and ignored the painful shards of stone beneath her feet. The lights of the farm came into view. It was hard to judge how far away they were, but she knew the well and the tree must be close.

With her heart in her mouth she ran towards the pale light of the farmhouse. The oil lamp offered a little glow as it swung in her hand, but not enough light for her to avoid a small gully underfoot. She lost her balance and fell upon the frozen soil. Alice rolled onto her back and cursed at the pain in her ankle.

"Please God, please help me," she muttered and lay on her back looking up at the black sky. The stars appeared like teardrops, looking upon her as if they were judging her. She rolled onto her side, reached for her ankle and rubbed the painful joint. She looked across the field and was drawn to the waxing moon low in the west. And then she saw it.

Silhouetted against the moon was the tree. The hawthorn tree she had climbed as a child. She recognised it instantly. After ten years of growth it looked the same. Alice limped towards it. She could make out spiny branches which looked like skeletal fingers pointing at her accusingly. She stopped for a breath and looked around to survey the field for the wall which surrounded the well. She strained her eyes in the darkness and with only the fading glow of the lamp Alice spotted it. She hobbled towards the small wall, not stopping until she had reached it. Alice placed the lamp atop the dry stone wall. She looked over and expected to see the metal grille covering the well head but she was taken aback to see nothing but soil and scrubby grass.

The thing's been covered over she thought to herself.

She climbed over the wall, lowered herself down and scraped at the soil. Frozen shards of stone pained her fingertips like paper cuts. After what felt like an eternity Alice had cleared enough soil to expose a timber beam. "Yes," she whispered and continued to scrape and scratch at the soil to expose more of the wood. She stopped to catch her breath, put the lamp on the ground and surveyed her work. "I'm getting nowhere fast," she exclaimed under her breath when she saw how little of the wood covering the well head had been uncovered. She got up and limped back to the building where the children lay.

She made her way back and thought about the events of the day.

\----------------------

The children awoke excitedly on their fifth birthday. Both had been expecting to be greeted by their father on their special day. But instead they saw Alice scurry into their room insisting they went with her and ask no questions. She'd told them they had to leave, and they had to leave straight away, with no time to dress or for breakfast. They were scared but believed Alice when she told them they couldn't say a word and to come with her. They trusted her as she was the closest thing they'd had to a mother. Alice laced their boots, opened the door and fled the house holding the arm of each child as they tried to keep up with her.

"I'm cold," called Louisa.

"We mustn't stop," said Alice.

"What's happening, where are we going?" sobbed William.

"Please children, please keep moving. You need to trust me, I'll try to explain later."

It hadn't taken long for Alexander Drake to discover that the children were not in their beds and were nowhere to be found. He'd called for Alice, the girl who he'd employed for the past two years, but she'd also gone. After searching his grounds and outbuildings he mounted his horse and explored the surrounding area.

Drake cursed under his breath as he rode to the village. It was half past seven and morning was teetering on the edge of daylight. Condensation bellowed from his horse's mouth as its snorts and whinnies hit the wintery air. After fruitlessly banging on the door of every house he returned and by nine he'd assembled his gang to search for Louisa, William and Alice, the young nanny who he thought he could trust.

Alice and the children had a three hour head start and miraculously stayed ahead of Drake and his marauding gang.

It had been eleven hours since Alice left the house and now the children were dead. But if Alexander had got to them before they'd died, their fate in his hands would have resulted in something much worse.

\----------------------

Alice approached the hut and shuddered when she shone the lamp over the threshold. William and Louisa lay where she had left them. She was anxious that Drake may have found them.

She loaded the bodies onto the cart and went back to the hut. Scanning the dark room as the lamp threw a yellow insipid glow against the wall, she saw a shovel lying in the corner. Alice picked it up along with a length of iron bar that was lying next to it and tossed them out into the field. She heard the dull thud as they landed on the frozen ground. She grabbed the rope hanging from the wooden beam and looped it over her shoulder. She limped to the cart, threw in the shovel, bar and rope then made her way back to the well.

Within ten minutes she was at the well and went to work clearing the soil. Her hands were blistering as she scraped and dug the gritty earth. Soon, the timber plank covering the well head was exposed. She fell to her knees and scratched at the corner of the wood and struggled to lift it. Alice snatched the iron bar and used it to prise the plank. It was heavier than it looked and she cursed as she grappled with it, attempting to move it away from the well head. After several minutes the lump of wood was away from the entrance to the well and Alice propped it up against the wall. The lamp was fading, but was casting enough light for her see the well head was covered by the same iron grille which prevented inquisitive children and stray animals from falling into the shallow cavity when she was a girl. She used the iron bar to lever the grille from where it had lain for as long as she could remember. She hauled it onto its side and propped it against the wall alongside the plank.

Alice stopped to catch her breath. The temperature was below zero and she ignored the cold and pain from her cut and blistered hands as adrenaline charged blood raced through her veins.

She turned to the cart behind the wall and hung the lamp over the bodies. She picked up Louisa and held her close.

"I'm so sorry my darling," she whispered and hugged the little girl's body. "I am so, so sorry."

Gently holding Louisa in her arms, as if she was taking her to her room to place her in her bed, she carried the dead child over the wall and lay her next to the well. She took the rope and formed a loop at one end. Alice passed the looped end of the rope over Louisa's head and shoulders so the rope was under the girl's armpits. After pulling the rope tight around Louisa's chest, she bent forward and kissed her on her cheek and stroked her hair. "Please forgive me God," she whispered as she touched the girl's face.

She hauled Louisa to the well and lowered her, feet first, into the abyss. The lamp didn't cast enough light to show the depth of the well, but Alice knew it was no more than a fifteen foot drop. She remembered stories of children who had climbed into the well for a dare. The well had been a hiding place for children who'd run away from home, only to be found by James Whitcombe, who eventually covered it with the grille.

The rope juddered and Louisa's body jerked against the rocky shaft as Alice lowered her in. It slackened when Louisa came to rest at the bottom. Alice tied a loop in the other end of the rope and placed it around William. She had little time for farewells because Alexander Drake and his gang were likely to return at any moment. She kissed him on his head and lowered him alongside his sister. Wiping her dirty arm across her brow she looked into the dark hole and said two quiet prayers. One for the children and one for herself, again asking God for forgiveness.

Alice replaced the iron grille, hauled the heavy plank back into position and shovelled the soil over the wood and then pushed the hand cart back to the hut.

Alice returned to the building and fell to the floor. She was exhausted, scared and grief stricken but knew she'd done the right thing. Her muscles ached and her limbs hurt. The lamp faded and tiredness enveloped her as she sobbed until she fell into a deep sleep.

### Chapter 2

Alice awoke to the sound of voices and whining dogs. She sat up and remembered where she was. The lamp had burnt out and inside the hut it was too dark to see. Light danced like fireflies between the cracks in the door as outside, a crowd of angry men jostled and shouted. Fear gripped her as the door flung open. Covering her eyes with the back of her hand to shield them from the bright lamps she shuffled backwards towards the wall.

"She's in here, tell Drake we've found her," shouted a short man holding a burning torch. A commotion ensued as the men hollered and jostled. A tall man pushed his way to the front and stood in the doorway. His eyes took a few seconds to adapt to the darkness, and when they did he saw Alice cowering in the corner. He stooped his tall frame as he entered.

"Hello Alice, I've been looking for you........ what have you done with my children?"

Alice said nothing. Her mouth was dry, and she trembled with fear. The clean shaven, dark-haired man knelt beside her and in a calm voice asked her again. "Alice, I need to know what you've done with William and Louisa. Please tell me where they are."

Alice felt weak and pathetic, but was determined not to be intimidated.

"They're not your children," replied Alice. Her voice wavering but confident.

He moved closer and put his mouth to Alice's ear. She could smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his breath against her face. Across his cheek was a scar which marred his handsome face.

"I will ask you one more time, so think before you answer. Where are they?"

Alice looked him in the eye as she summoned her mental strength to not be overpowered by his intimidation.

"I won't tell you. They're somewhere you'll never know. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I know your secret and I know you're not their father."

"You know nothing!" he shouted as he rose to his feet. Drake stood over her and pushed loose strands of long dark hair away from his eyes, exposing the streak of grey which flashed across his temple.

"I know enough. And I've made sure you'll never see the children again."

Drake's temper got the better of him and he slapped her face with a leather riding glove. She flinched as the leather struck her skin. He grabbed her by her jaw, his strong hand squeezing as his nails dug into the sides of her face. He had no hesitation when it came to inflicting pain, but could tell by her air of confidence she wouldn't tell him what he needed to hear.

"Very well," said Drake. His calm voice returned and he released his grip from her face. She slumped back against the straw and saw the gold ring on his middle finger shimmering in the flame of the torch. She recognised the circular symbols etched onto the face of the ring. The same symbols she'd seen the evening before on the blue velvet cloth which adorned the circular table in the basement of Drake's home. Drake, and three other men who she didn't recognise, had sat around the table. On the table were two strange ornate wooden boxes. On the top of each box was a blue cushion. Both cushions had a pentagram etched on them. Alice had overheard their conversation and couldn't believe what she was hearing. She would have taken the children that night, but knew Drake would hear the commotion. She needed to wait until morning before he was awake.

Drake stood up, turned and walked towards the door.

The short man stood on the threshold with the burning torch in his hand.

"She's not going to talk," said Drake. "Mr. Morris, do your worst."

Drake walked away from the building to the sound of muffled screams as Joseph Morris kicked the defenceless but brave young girl. He grabbed an oil lamp hanging from the beam and smashed it to the ground beside her. Oil splashed across the floor and onto Alice's clothes. Morris looked upon her with a remorseless expression as he held the flaming torch.

"You should have told Mr. Drake where his children are," grunted Morris as the flame cast an orange glow upon his scarred and pitted face, casting shadows which made him look as if he was a gargoyle. Morris had more tattoos than teeth. The tattoos on his face were a throwback from his days working as a seaman.

Alice looked up at him and with a defiant stare she whispered her last words. "They're not his children."

Morris dropped the torch and took two steps back as the oil ignited and flames raced towards the helpless girl. Her skirt was an instant fireball as she writhed and screamed in agony. Her skin blistered as the flames engulfed her. Morris smiled and shielded his face from the heat. He took delight in watching Alice's thrashing body as she became consumed by the inferno. Within minutes she had succumbed to the flames and her cadaver crackled and hissed as the heat intensified.

Morris stepped outside and shivered as the icy night air hit him. Drake leant against the handcart and smoked his briar wood pipe.

"It is done," growled Morris and pulled his coat around him. He considered stepping back into the hut to warm himself by the flames which engulfed the building.

"Good work Joseph, let's go. There are things to be done."

"But the children? How are we going to succeed without them?"

"Don't worry Joseph, that's something which shouldn't concern you right now. I am prepared to wait as long as it takes. Patience, Mr. Morris, is a virtue. And patience is a quality I am lucky to have."

The caw of a raven could be heard as it soared high above the flames.

The two men climbed onto their horses and galloped towards the rest of the gang who watched from a distance with the dogs. After speaking with his men, Drake ordered them to go their separate ways and told Morris to get back to his boy, Mathias.

The thud of heavy hooves against the frozen ground disappeared into the night as the burning hut cast an eerie glow across the field.

### Chapter 3

Two hundred years later

December 14th 2004

Finn Maynard woke to the niggling sound of his ring tone. It was a missed call from Sophie. Finn put the phone back in his pocket and gazed through the window. He thought of his wife and young daughter as he watched low cloud smudge the distant trees.

He fought to stay awake as the hypnotic lull of the train did its best to lure him back to sleep.

The day had been uneventful. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at Sally who looked as bored as he felt. He'd only agreed to attend the meeting as it meant a day away from the office and now he wished he'd stayed in Bristol. As far as work was concerned he wasn't an ambitious man. He did what he had to do to make sure he could provide for his family. His wife and daughter were his universe.

Fifteen minutes later the train slowed as it neared Temple Meads, but it was still travelling at a fair pace as it approached Stapleton Road Station. He rubbed his eyes again.

With no warning he jolted forward, banging his knees into the low table in front of him. A woman screamed as she fell in the walkway. The grinding of the wheels against the tracks whined like giant fingernails scraping along a blackboard. Sally swore as coffee spilled over her skirt.

The train shuddered to a standstill and for a few seconds no one spoke.

A guard ran along the platform followed by the driver. Doors opened and passengers stepped from the train to see what had happened. Finn stood up and offered his hand to the fallen woman as she struggled to her feet.

"What happened?" asked Sally.

Finn didn't reply. He hurried along the carriage, ignoring the dull pain in his knees. The door was open, and he looked along the platform before getting out. A crowd had gathered and were looking at something beneath the train. The guard was doing his best at ushering them away, but no one moved.

Finn stepped onto the platform and made his way towards the crowd. He knew why the train had stopped, but morbid curiosity was getting the better of him. He'd not seen a dead person before and wasn't sure if he wanted to, but something within was urging him to take a look.

A headless body lay beneath the train. Finn turned away and noticed a blood soaked paper bag further along the track behind the train. Holding his hand over his mouth he walked towards it. Behind him was an older man walking with a stick. The man with the stick stopped at the edge of the platform and looked at the bag and then glanced at Finn. The man looked at Finn as if he was seeking approval for what he was going to do. Finn said nothing. The man knelt down and prodded the bag with his stick. The blood sodden bag ripped, revealing the head of an old man. One eye stared at Finn with a look which held pained secrets of generations. He was transfixed by what he saw. The eye looked at Finn as if it knew he'd be there to witness the suicide. Finn felt as if the whole thing had been staged just for him. The man with the walking stick turned away shaking his head, leaving Finn alone to gawp at the gruesome find.

The sound of sirens filled the air and broke the unnerving silence. Other than the guard, no one had spoken. The small crowd and the driver had been shocked into an uneasy hush.

Half an hour later Finn and the rest of the passengers were talking with police and providing statements.

First Great Western arranged for a bus to take the shocked passengers to Temple Meads Station. Finn sat next to Sally, and she noticed how pale he looked. He gripped her hand. When the bus arrived at the station the tired passengers were met by an official and after a brief talk they were allowed home.

Finn stood in the taxi queue with his laptop slung over his shoulder.

"I can drive you home if you like," offered Sally with a faint smile.

Finn didn't relish the thought of making small talk with a taxi driver and took her up on her offer. She had remained on the train and hadn't seen the man's body. Although she had been shaken by what happened, she wasn't as affected as Finn.

They walked to her car in the station car park and soon she was driving him home. The memory of the dead man's head plagued Finn as he watched the cars inch along the rush hour traffic.

"Why don't you call Sophie?" suggested Sally.

Finn didn't answer. He continued to stare at the traffic and was mesmerised by the tail lights ahead.

Sally turned into Finn's road and spotted Sophie on the pavement wedging a black bag into the rubbish bin. She parked the car, lowered the window and was going to speak, but Sophie spoke first.

"Sally, what are you doing here? Is everything OK?"

Sally put on the interior light and Sophie saw Finn sitting alongside her.

"Finn's shaken, we've had a crappy journey."

He opened the door and got out. Sophie could tell by his pained expression that things weren't good.

He walked to the flat, leaving Sally and Sophie outside.

"He's had a shock, well we both have, but it's affected Finn more than me."

Sophie looked at Sally without speaking.

"There was an incident. A man jumped in front of our train at Stapleton Road. He was decapitated."

Sophie covered her mouth with her hand.

"Finn saw everything. He's the one who found the head, it was about twenty yards from the body."

Sophie shuddered.

"Are you OK, do you want a stiff drink to calm your nerves?" asked Sophie.

"No, I'll be fine, I'd best be on my way, it's my son's birthday and I'm in a rush. I stayed on the carriage, so Finn's the one who needs a drink. A large scotch should do the trick."

Sophie hugged her and thanked her for bringing her husband home.

"I won't be surprised if he doesn't make it in tomorrow," said Sally as she walked to her car.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, thank God."

"Yeah, sorry, of course. Tell him I'll catch up with him in the office on Monday."

Sophie waved her off as she disappeared from view.

Finn was in the lounge. His coat was wrapped around his large frame and his scarf was around his neck. Sophie sat beside him and held his hand.

"Sally's told me what happened."

Finn didn't answer. He had become fixated by a cobweb swaying in the corner.

Sophie said nothing. She didn't know what to say. She took Sally's advice and poured him a scotch. He took the glass but didn't drink. Instead he held it in his shaking hand.

She'd seen him like this once before. The day he'd been told that his best friend Mark had been killed in a climbing accident. But this was different. When Mark died Finn had mixed emotions of utter shock and sadness. But now Sophie could sense something else. Mark's death effected both Finn and Sophie because he'd dated Sophie's sister Heather a few weeks before the accident.

She was going to speak but was interrupted by their daughter calling from her bedroom.

"Mummy, is daddy home?"

Sophie walked to Rosie's room, turned up the light and closed the door.

"Daddy's home, but he's a bit tired........ so I think it's best he doesn't tell you a story tonight."

"But he promised."

"I know, he did. Be a good girl and I promise he'll read you a really super one tomorrow."

The three year old slumped on her pillow and looked miserable. Sophie kissed her on her head and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Get to sleep now. I need to see Daddy."

Sophie closed the door and returned to the lounge. Finn hadn't moved, but he'd drank the scotch. And then he spoke.

"It was horrible."

He placed his glass on the table next to him, and rubbed his face. Sophie knelt beside him and looked into his eyes.

"The whole thing was.......," his quiet voice trailed off without finishing.

"Rosie wanted to see you, I told her you were too tired to read her a story."

He looked at her and for the first time since Sally brought him home she detected a faint glimmer of the man she'd married.

"No, I'll go and see her. It will do me good."

He went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. She threw her arms around him.

"Daddy, Daddy."

He held her and nuzzled his face into her hair.

"Daddy, ouch! You're squeezing me."

He let go, and she sat next to him.

"I'm sorry Rosie. I've missed you and needed a big hug."

She kissed him on his face. He tucked her in, and went back to the lounge.

Sophie waited in the lounge.

"Do you want to talk?" asked Sophie as she undid the buttons on his coat.

He nodded. "And I could do with another drink."

Sophie draped his coat over the back of a chair and poured another scotch.

"He was staring at me," said Finn in his softly spoken voice as he blankly gazed ahead. "One eye was looking right at me."

He paused for a sip of scotch, grimacing as he gulped it too fast.

"I know it sounds stupid Sophie, but it was as if he knew me, as if he was waiting for me to find him....... and the expression on his face........ I'm sure he had a message for me."

Sophie had been desperate to see her husband. She had been bursting with excitement and couldn't wait to tell him her news. But now wasn't the right time. The euphoria had been overshadowed by what had happened on the train.

Or maybe she should tell him. Now might be a good time as it might distract from the horrible event of the day.

"I have something to tell you."

Finn looked at her with no expression.

"Huh, sorry what did you say?"

"I have some news."

"What news?"

"It's time we looked for somewhere else to live, somewhere bigger with more bedrooms."

She pulled the tester from her pocket and handed it to him.

"Look what it says," said Sophie as a smile lit her face.

Finn was distracted from his thoughts and looked at the positive result on the pregnancy tester.

"Wow, is this for real?"

She nodded.

"Are you sure, is this thing working properly?"

She nodded again.

A rush of colour returned to his face.

"It's the third test I've done today.... there's absolutely no doubt, I'm pregnant."

Finn stood up and threw his arms around her. He held her as the news sank in.

"This is brilliant news..... have you told anybody else?"

"No, I wanted to tell you first. I'll ring mum and dad in the morning."

Finn walked towards the hallway, stopped and turned to face her.

"This really is the best news I could have hoped for."

He processed the information. Thoughts of babies pinged around his tired mind as a smile spanned his face. But within minutes his positive thoughts were eclipsed by the bloody head in the paper bag and the staring eye.

Finn had no way of knowing how the events of the day would affect his future.

### Chapter 4

"The selfish bastard............ the selfish, selfish bastard," said Henry Buxton as the news sank in.

"We need you to identify the body...... but we're sure it's your father. He was carrying his driving licence." said the police officer.

Henry nodded.

The officer informed Henry of the circumstances of his father's suicide, including the head. Henry trembled as he listened.

"We weren't very close. Since he moved into that house, we've grown apart."

Robert Buxton moved into his son's road three years earlier to be near his family. But since the day he set foot in the house he'd changed. He'd become distant and reclusive.

Henry was sixty-one and his father had been in his early eighties.

"Did he leave a note?" asked Henry.

"I understand there's an envelope, but I don't know of its contents." replied the officer.

Henry stood up and put on his coat.

"Are you sure you can do this?" asked Katherine.

"I don't think I have a choice," he replied as he buttoned his coat.

"Let me come with you..... please."

"No thank you, I'd prefer do this on my own."

Katherine squeezed her husband's hand as he turned to leave their house. She watched from the doorway as the police vehicle turned out of the road with Henry sitting in the rear of the car looking grey and sombre.

Just over an hour later Henry had identified his father's body and stood alone in a waiting room.

The officer entered the room and stood alongside him holding a plastic folder.

"I knew he was unhappy, even depressed, but I had no idea to what degree," said Henry in a monotone voice.

The officer was concerned by Henry's lack of emotion.

"You said he'd written a note, may I read it?"

The officer opened the folder in which was the contents of Robert Buxton's pockets. He handed him a white envelope and inside were three sheets of white A4 paper. On two of the sheets was a pattern and alongside each was a tick. The other sheet was blank. Each sheet of paper had been numbered in the upper left-hand corner. The two with a pattern and a tick were numbered one and two. The blank paper was numbered three.

"We expected to find a note in the envelope, but instead we found those," said the officer pointing to the papers.

"Is that everything, is there nothing else?" asked Henry.

The officer shook his head.

Henry looked at the two patterns. Both were similar, but not the same. They had been drawn by hand in red ink. They reminded him of pagan images he'd seen carved on ancient stones. He glanced at the blank page and turned his attention back to the patterns.

"Can I have these?"

Again, the officer shook his head.

"Sorry, not yet. After the autopsy you may take your father's belongings, including those."

"Autopsy? Why an autopsy? It was suicide."

"I'm sure it was, but we need to be sure there was no foul play."

Henry looked at the drawings. So similar, yet so different.

"If you don't mind, I want to go home," said Henry, handing the papers to the officer.

Henry stood by the gate of his house and watched the police car turn at the bottom of his road. He turned and looked at his father's house which was four doors away. It looked dark and uninviting. Henry had never liked the house, even before his father lived there.

The police car made its way up the road and slowed as it passed Henry.

"Are you going to be okay sir?" asked the officer.

"I'll be fine. Katherine's here, I won't be alone."

The officer nodded and pulled away.

Henry stared at his father's house and the old hawthorn tree in the garden.

Sadness crept up on him. "I'm an orphan."

He rubbed his face and whispered again, "I'm a bloody orphan."

Tears welled in his eyes as the enormity of the day's events sank in. But he couldn't cry.

The door opened, and he looked up to see Katherine. She walked along the path, met him at the gate and put her arms around him. She kissed him on the cheek and walked him to the house.

Katherine struggled to find the right words. She'd not been fond of her father-in-law and Henry knew it.

"Can I get you something?"

He shook his head. "No thank you. I'm going to go to bed. I need to be alone."

Henry lay on the bed. He felt he should be more affected by his father's death. He couldn't understand why he wasn't a total wreck.

I'll grieve when I'm ready he thought.

He blanked out the hideous memory of his father's headless body and instead his thoughts were consumed by the strange drawings. He wondered about the blank sheet. What did it mean?

Just after two am he sat bolt upright. Something awoke him. He'd heard nothing but something had brought him round from a heavy sleep. Henry looked to his left and saw Katherine sleeping beside him.

He climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtain he saw it was snowing. He put on his trousers, walked downstairs and opened the front door. The snow was settling and there was an eerie silence. The street light by the gate illuminated the flakes as they danced in the breeze.

Henry slipped his shoes on, walked to the gate and looked towards Robert Buxton's house. An upstairs light was on. He was sure that there were no lights on when he returned with the police officer earlier. He'd remembered seeing the house and how dark and lonely it looked. He scurried back to his house, put on a thick jumper, grabbed the spare keys he kept for his father's house and cautiously made his way back along the slippery path. He stopped to look again at the house and saw that the upstairs light was off.

"What the......?" whispered Henry as condensation blew from his mouth.

He carefully walked along the pavement, his footsteps crunching the untouched snow. He stopped. Everything was quiet as fresh snow absorbed the sound. But it was too quiet. Even in the early hours of the morning he should be able to hear a distant car or motorbike.

The doors and windows were closed. There was no sign of a break in. He considered calling the police, but his curiosity was getting the better of him and he continued to make his way to the front door.

Although he wasn't a young man, Henry Buxton was in fine health, as strong as an ox and had no fear when it came to finding an intruder in his father's home.

He glanced at the hawthorn tree and noticed that the snow had not settled on it.

He turned the key, swung open the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He picked up one of his father's walking sticks which was in the hallway and held it tightly.

Quietly he moved around the house, ready to swipe the first moving thing he saw. The lounge and the dining room were empty, there was no one there. He turned the handle on the kitchen door, but it wouldn't open. Damned thing he thought as he tried to open it. The door had a habit of sticking and he'd promised his father he would fix it, but never did.

He tiptoed upstairs and put his head around the bathroom door. Empty. Both double bedrooms were empty. He saw his father's suit on a clothes hanger. The orange glow from the street light cast strange shadows and he could picture his father standing there with his expressionless face. Henry shuddered.

He turned his attention to the single room which his father had referred to as 'the study'. The study was the room where Henry had seen a light. With one hand he turned the handle whilst in the other he held the walking stick above his head. He was coiled and ready to swipe should someone move towards him.

He pushed the door ajar and heard a cry as something brushed pass his legs. He thrashed with the stick as Suzy, his father's cat, charged down the stairs and out through the cat flap. Henry sighed.

Pushing the door he stepped into the study. The room was small, and even in the dark he could tell it was empty. He reached for the switch and blinked as the light flickered on.

It took a second or two for Henry to understand what he was looking at.

"What the........?"

Each wall was covered from top to bottom with A4 paper. He lowered the stick and looked around. He looked at the ceiling which was also completely covered. Henry estimated that there must be five hundred sheets or maybe more. There was a sequence to the papers. Each sheet was numbered one, two and three. On the sheets numbered one and two were drawings. Drawings like the ones he'd been shown by the police officer. Each sheet which had been numbered 'three' was blank. The sequences repeated over and over covering every inch of the walls and ceiling.

No two were the same. The patterns were similar, but none were matching. The sequence was the same. Two sheets with patterns, followed by a blank.

Beneath every pattern was a cross.

What had he been doing? thought Henry.

He was interrupted by a sound from downstairs. He tightened the grip on the walking stick, then relaxed as he remembered Suzy. His father's cat was looking for food. She couldn't have eaten since this morning.

He walked to the top of the stairs and saw her pushing against the bottom of the banister. Then he heard it again, and it definitely wasn't the cat. It was a voice. He'd heard a giggle. The giggle had a mischievous quality. He made his way down the stairs, tightly gripping the stick. The voice came from the kitchen. It was a child's voice. He stopped outside the kitchen with the stick ready to strike out. The giggling stopped. He pushed against the door with his shoulder. This time the door swung open, letting out a low drawn out creak. He turned on the light and saw the kitchen was empty.

He was tired, very very tired, but not so tired that he could have imagined the laugh of a child. It was distinct and playful.

He looked behind the door. No one. The entire house was empty. Henry frowned and rubbed his eyes as he tried to understand what was happening. He hadn't imagined seeing the upstairs light, it had definitely been on. He clearly remembered snowflakes lit by the glow from the window. And the child's voice? It had been so clear and sounded playful as if it had been teasing him.

Suzy trotted in and brushed against his leg. Her purr brought him back to reality.

"Come on little lady, you must be hungry," said Henry opening a sachet of cat food and emptying it into a bowl.

Suzy jumped up on her back legs and tried to paw the bowl as he bent forward to put it on the floor. She was starving.

Without warning the cat let out a dreadful howl as if someone stood on her tail. Henry dropped the bowl, spilling cat food across the floor. Suzy froze as she stared at the fridge. She looked at Henry and ran out of the kitchen. He sighed and bent forward to clean up the mess, and then he saw it scratched into the door of the fridge.

Buxton.

Join me in he

Henry scowled as he read the words out loud. "Join me in he." Was this a message written by his father just before he'd taken his life? It made no sense. And who on earth was 'he'?

He closed his eyes and shook. Suddenly he felt alone and scared. Then he heard it. A faint scratching noise coming from the fridge. He opened his eyes just in time to see the second of two small vertical lines being etched into the fridge door. The two lines finished the message.

Buxton.

Join me in hell.

### Chapter 5

May 2005

Sophie Maynard sat next to Rosie on the wall waiting for the estate agent to arrive. She looked at her watch and sighed.

"What the hell do these people get paid to do?" she grumbled impatiently and rubbed her bump.

"Give her five more minutes," said Heather, "I guess it's the traffic, it was a nightmare earlier."

The appointment was at one pm for Sophie to view 11a Whitcombe Fields Road, and now it was twenty past the hour. Her sister had driven because Sophie's car was in the garage.

"It's okay for you, you're not lugging this around with you," said Sophie looking at her bump.

"It's a nice looking house, but I wonder why they built it like that?" remarked Heather.

"Like what?"

"The entire road on this side are terraced houses, apart from this one."

Heather was right. Every building was terraced, apart from number 11a. The property stood halfway along the road and bang in the middle of two rows of terraced houses.

"Maybe the house before had been destroyed in the war, or by fire and was rebuilt as a detached home?" suggested Sophie.

"It wouldn't have been the war, these houses look as if they've been built in the sixties. 11a looks like an eighties house."

"You're right, the estate agent's blurb said it was constructed in eighty-four."

"It's funny it's not number 13?" added Heather.

Sophie shrugged her shoulders.

"Each house has a consecutive odd number, apart from that one. It's 11a, it should be number 13." said Heather, pointing to the number on the door.

"Perhaps they were superstitious."

A car swung around the corner and parked behind Heather's. A woman wearing a blue trouser suit got out holding a briefcase.

"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting," said June Croft, the estate agent, as she slammed the car door. "There's been an accident and the traffic's backed up to the main road."

Sophie attempted a smile. She was in no mood to be waiting for such a long time. It was a hot afternoon in May, which didn't mix well with being six months pregnant.

Croft fumbled as she looked for the key to the property.

"I've found it," she said as she placed the key in the lock.

As soon as she opened the door, Rosie charged passed and ran along the hallway.

"Slow down," called Sophie.

"She's OK, let her explore," said the estate agent with a smile.

"I love it mummy, can we have it?"

Sophie walked along the hall followed by Heather. The estate agent rambled away with her usual small talk and sales patter and was interrupted by Rosie running around upstairs.

They walked around downstairs, taking time to appreciate the spacious lounge and dining room, and were about to enter the kitchen when Rosie called from upstairs.

"Mummy, mummy come and see."

Sophie and Heather climbed the stairs with the estate agent trailing behind.

Rosie ran into the middle bedroom and excitedly skipped around.

"Can this be my room mummy, please can I have this one?"

Sophie smiled, "slow down Rosie..... we're just looking today, besides Daddy needs to see the house too."

"Please mummy...."

Heather bent down and cuddled the little girl who had a grumpy face.

They continued to look around the other bedrooms when the estate agent reminded them they'd not yet looked at the kitchen.

"Let's go back downstairs, you'll love the kitchen. It's in need of modernisation, but it's a good size."

Sophie huffed as she made her way down, her back was hurting and she felt uncomfortable.

The estate agent opened the kitchen door. Sophie looked around and nodded with approval.

Heather stepped into the kitchen and felt strange. Overcome with a grey feeling as if she had no purpose in life. The feeling intensified, and she became overwrought by a feeling of depression. The kitchen spun, and she held onto the wall. Sophie and the estate agent's voices became distant and were replaced by a buzzing sound. She stumbled out of the kitchen and found her way to the bottom of the stairs where she staggered and fell to the floor. The buzzing developed into something different. She put her hands over her ears, but couldn't block it out. She could hear barking, howling dogs. Heather shivered and became enveloped by the cold of a winter's day.

"Mummy, Auntie Heather's not very well," called Rosie.

Sophie came out of the kitchen to find Heather slumped on the bottom stair. The colour had drained from her face and her hands shook as she cupped them over her ears.

"Heather, Heather what is it?" called Sophie.

Heather didn't answer. She curled up and pressed her hands harder against her ears.

Sophie put her hand on her sister's shoulder and was shocked by the coldness of her skin.

"Heather, please..... you're scaring me..... can you hear me?"

Heather felt the warmth of her sister's hand on her shoulder and the sound of dogs stopped. She opened her eyes and looked around.

"What happened?" whispered Heather.

The estate agent pulled a bottle of mineral water from her briefcase.

"Give her a sip of this," she said, handing the bottle to Sophie.

Heather took a gulp and pulled herself up into a sitting position.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"It's hot in here, you should step outside," suggested the estate agent.

"I think I've seen enough of the house for now. I'll speak with my husband and will be in touch with you," said Sophie.

The estate agent locked the house. Heather felt better and Rosie ran around the garden.

"It's a steal. I don't think it will be on the market for much longer. We've had lots of viewings. Let me know if your husband wants to see it, and I suggest the sooner the better," said the estate agent. Her voice carried a hint of desperation.

She was right about the price. It was fifteen thousand below the market value.

"Why is it such a low price?" asked Sophie.

"They want a quick sale. There's no chain, so I recommend that if you're interested you put in an offer as soon as possible."

Sophie nodded.

"I guess the previous owners didn't have green fingers?" said Heather.

The garden was bare. There wasn't a flower, plant or even a weed. Apart from a tree in the middle of what usually would have been a lawn, there was no sign of plant life.

The estate agent shrugged her shoulders.

"Bread and cheese," said Heather.

Sophie looked at her.

"We used to call that tree bread and cheese when we were kids. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, you're right. It's a hawthorn tree. I remember you used to say we could eat the leaves."

"You can, they're good for you. Full of vitamin C," added Heather.

"I'm sorry to rush off, but I'm late for my next viewing," said the estate agent.

"Okay, no problem, I'll be in touch after I've spoken with my husband."

The estate agent hurried to her car and sped away.

"Are you feeling better?"

Heather nodded. "It's two o'clock and I've not eaten. I need carbs."

Sophie, Heather and Rosie drove away from the pretty cul de sac and headed for something to eat.

The road was quiet, and the air was still. The hawthorn tree shuddered as if a strong breeze whipped around the garden of number 11a Whitcombe Fields Road.

And then it stopped.

### Chapter 6

St Michael on the Mount Without Church

St Michaels Hill, Bristol.

An old lady wandered through the derelict graveyard. Most of the tombstones surrendered to weeds and brambles.

Although it was a pleasant May afternoon, she wore a heavy black coat buttoned up to her neck. Her skin was fragile like pressed flowers. The sun beat upon her face, but she was as cold as chilled buttermilk soup.

The church of St Michael on the Mount Without had seen its congregation dwindle, it closed in the early eighties, and the graveyard hadn't seen a burial in over sixty years.

The lady made her way between the graves, stepping over those of sixteenth century Marian martyrs' who'd been executed at the top of the Hill.

She stopped at a non-descript gravestone. It was the only marker not overgrown with nettles. The lady had been tending the grave her entire adult life. Over the past seventy years few people had paid attention as she lovingly cleared away the ugly foliage which enveloped the other forgotten graves.

The mottled grey stone had been weathered by the elements. Lichen spread as if it were an angry yellow rash. The faded inscription gave no clue as to whom the grave belonged.

The lady knelt beside the grave. Her face contorted as her bones strived to support her weak and olden frame.

She took a bottle of water from her bag and with gnarled fingers slowly unscrewed the lid. She smiled as she poured water over the gravestone. The inscription became clearer as the water spread over the stone. The name of the deceased had worn away long ago. A tear formed as she read what remained of the dates upon the stone.

Born ----ber 1- --99

Died September 6 1839

She ran her skeletal fingers over the stone and knew time was drawing to an end. She lay next to the grave and faced the sky.

"This body is of no use now."

She turned to face the grave.

"Please don't worry. Soon there will be someone else to watch over and protect you."

A contented smile spanned her face as the body which had been the repository for her soul for the last ninety one years exhaled its final breath.

### Chapter 7

Late July

"Okay, so in which box is the kettle?" asked Finn looking at the stack of packing crates scattered around the lounge of their new home.

Sophie picked up the clipboard and turned over the page.

"K3, you'll find it in crate K3."

"I love you," smiled Finn.

"No, you love tea. You find the kettle and the tea bags, and I'll get the milk from the cool box."

Moving into their new home had gone without a hitch. In fact, the whole process of buying their first house had gone well. It had helped that there hadn't been a property chain and the contract on their flat expired at just the right time.

Sophie was heavily pregnant and the due date was in less than three weeks. Finn had his work cut out for him and had taken two weeks annual leave. Every waking hour of every day would be required to get the house in order.

He sighed, looked at the crates and took a sip of tea. He was lost in thought and visualised what had to go where. Just the thought of lugging everything upstairs, assembling beds and wardrobes was making him weary.

Finn was interrupted by the sound of a screaming child, the thudding of feet and a loud disturbance from upstairs.

"Rosie!" shouted Finn. He jumped up and ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

Her screams became louder and the thump of her footsteps echoed throughout the house.

"Daddy, mummy help!"

"It's okay Rosie, I'm coming."

Then everything was quiet.

Finn stopped on the landing. The bedroom and bathroom doors were shut.

"Where are you Rosie?"

"Help me daddy!"

Her voice came from the middle bedroom.

He threw open the door and found his daughter cowering in the corner with her hands over her face. Scattered around the bare floor were dozens of black feathers.

"Rosie!"

She looked up at her father and he saw her face was bleeding.

He picked her up and held her close. She was breathing heavily and shaking.

He looked at the feathers.

"What happened?"

Rosie didn't reply. She buried her head into her father's shoulder. He hugged her as she sobbed. Her sobs turned to tears and within seconds she was crying her heart out.

He carried her to the landing, closed the door and took her downstairs.

"What's happened?" asked Sophie.

"Shush," whispered Finn as he rocked Rosie.

"I want mummy," sobbed the little girl.

Sophie walked over to her daughter. Rosie lifted her head and looked at her mother. There were cuts on her forehead and cheek.

"How did you do this?" asked Sophie.

At first she couldn't answer. Her tears were getting the better of her. Sophie pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed the spots of blood on her face. Rosie flinched.

"The bird did it," said Rosie.

"The bird?"

"There's a nasty blackbird upstairs, and it hurt me."

"Where did it come from?" asked Sophie.

"Behind the door in the corner," sobbed Rosie.

"She must mean the airing cupboard," said Finn.

Finn passed Rosie to Sophie.

"There are black feathers scattered around the middle bedroom, I'll find the bird and let it out."

He grabbed a towel and went upstairs. He knew it must be somewhere in the middle bedroom because he had closed the door behind him. But he definitely hadn't seen it when he'd gone in to get Rosie.

It must have flown back into the airing cupboard thought Finn.

Carefully he opened the bedroom door and poked his head around, expecting to see the scared creature.

The room was empty, and the windows were closed. He noticed the cupboard door was ajar and there where feathers scattered outside. He crept over holding the towel ready to throw over the bird as soon as he saw it. Nervously, he opened the door and inside it was dark. His eyes acclimatised to the poor light, and he saw it was empty. Not even a feather. He shut the door and looked around the room. Apart from the scattering of feathers, the bedroom was empty.

"What the hell?"

All the upstairs rooms were empty.

He picked up a handful of feathers and went back downstairs

"Did you get it?" asked Sophie.

"It's not there," said Finn shaking his head.

He handed the feathers to Sophie.

"These are too big for a blackbird. Check out the size of this one," said Sophie holding a jet black feather which was as long as her forearm.

"Maybe it was a crow?" suggested Finn.

"Maybe, but this feather is huge."

"How big was the bird?" asked Sophie as she turned to Rosie who was sitting on the floor hugging her doll.

"This big," replied Rosie stretching her arm as high as she could. "I don't want to be here," she sobbed.

"It's okay poppet, it was just a bird that got in, and I bet he was more scared than you."

Finn wearily looked at his wife.

"To be honest, I'll struggle to get her bed put together by bedtime, it's five o'clock and I've not even started unpacking yet. Do you think your sister would let Rosie sleep at her place tonight? Especially after what happened with the bird."

"I'll call her, I'm sure she won't mind."

Rosie was happier when she was told she'd be sleeping at her Auntie Heather's house.

An hour later Heather was at the house and Rosie was pleased to see her auntie. Sophie told her about the bird and handed her the feathers.

"They're raven's feathers," said Heather as she examined them.

"A raven?" said Finn with a confused expression. "I thought it was from a crow."

"Ravens aren't as commonplace as crows, but look," she replied whilst holding a feather by its quill.

"Raven feathers are long, between 20 to 36 inches, smooth and angled. Crow feathers are shorter and are more blunted than a raven's. This isn't from a crow."

Finn shrugged his shoulders.

"You'd think we'd have heard a bird as big as a raven flapping around the house."

"I don't know, but I can you assure it's a raven feather."

"You've got to trust my sister, she's always been a bird brain," said Sophie with a half-smile.

Finn and Sophie waved to their daughter as Heather pulled away.

"Okay, I need to get a move on, I've got loads to do," said Finn closing the front door.

A little later he was assembling his daughter's bed in the middle room where the bird had been. The sun was at an angle and cast a warm glow across the bedroom. The light caught his eye, and he looked towards the window. And then he saw it. The ghostly imprint of a large bird on the glass. He placed the screwdriver on the floor, and walked over to examine it. He ran his finger over the pattern. His heart skipped a beat.

"Sophie, come up here."

"Do I have to? I'm busy and my back's aching."

"Please, take a look at this."

He heard his wife's heavy steps as she made her way upstairs. She blew out a huff when she reached the top step.

"This had better be worth it," she whispered as she entered the room.

"It's the bird that attacked Rosie," said Finn pointing to the imprint on the window.

"Don't be daft Finn, that bird crashed into the window from the outside, it's more likely it fell to the ground and died of shock."

Finn shook his head.

"Come over here."

Sophie walked up to the window and looked at Finn.

"What am I missing?" said Sophie shrugging her shoulders.

"Touch the window where the imprint is."

She ran her hand over the pattern of the bird and gasped as her finger smeared the grease which made the impression.

"It was on the inside, the bird was in this room and flew into the window."

"The question is," said Finn, "where the hell is it now?"

### Chapter 8

Early August

Heather stood at the traffic lights at the bottom of St. Michaels Hill and looked at the steep incline.

"I'll never make it up that hill," said her father as he contemplated climbing one of the steepest roads in the city.

"If you gave up smoking it wouldn't be so much of an effort for you." huffed Heather. "Besides, I imagine a walk up that hill is a lot less than Sophie's had to deal with."

Heather, her father John and mother Grace were on their way to visit Sophie who had given birth to Jack the previous day. The maternity hospital car park was full and the only place Heather could park was on the main road at the bottom of the hill.

"Come on John, keep up," said Grace as the lights changed allowing them to cross the busy road.

"Mum, I don't think they'll allow you to take those into the ward," said Heather pointing to the large bouquet her mother was holding.

"Nonsense, don't be so daft, of course you can bring flowers."

"She's right. I read it in the Daily Mail. Something about them spreading germs and creating extra work for nurses," added John as he tried to keep up.

After walking fifty yards John stopped and held his chest.

"I'm knackered, I need to sit down."

"Dad, we're not even a quarter of the way..... you need to get into shape."

Grace pointed to a wooden bench outside a derelict church on the other side of the road.

They crossed over and climbed half a dozen steps which took them to a paved area outside the churchyard.

John sat on the bench and let out a sigh as he reached for his cigarettes.

"Dad, please put those things away, you'll not make it up the hill if you smoke one of those."

He huffed and put them back in his pocket.

"What am I going to do with these if I can't bring them in for Sophie?" said Grace admiring the flowers.

Heather looked at the derelict church and read the name on the faded sign.

"St Michael on the Mount Without. That's a strange name for a church."

"It's because it was built outside the city walls," explained her father.

"But why 'without'"?

"It means it's without walls,...... outside the city walls."

Heather nodded and walked over to railings and looked at the dishevelled graveyard.

"It's such a shame they let it get like this. I bet no one ever visits the dead in this place."

She turned to her mother sitting beside John on the bench.

"Mum, I know what you can do with those flowers."

She held out her hand and motioned for her mother to pass them.

"I'll put them in the graveyard, it could do with brightening up."

"No, you don't, I've paid sixteen pounds for these, and you're not dumping them in an old church."

"Why not? You can't take them into the hospital and if you take them home, they'll be dead in a day, you know what you and dad are like for looking after flowers. Dad's great in the garden, but you guys never remember to water the plants around the house."

Grace sighed and reluctantly handed them to her daughter.

Heather walked back to the graveyard and pushed the rusty gate. The place was so overgrown with weeds and nettles she could barely see the gravestones.

She looked to her left and there it was.

That's strange she thought as she made her way towards the only gravestone which was not overrun with brambles and weeds. The grass around the edge of the stone was neatly manicured. A few wild flowers bordered the ancient slab of rock.

The stone was so old most of the words had faded. Squinting her eyes to block the glare from the sun she saw dates which were partially legible. She knelt down for a closer look.

"Died September 6th 1839, I wonder how old you were?" she whispered.

She placed the flowers on the grave and ran her fingers over the faded writing.

As she touched the stone a voice echoed around the graveyard. It appeared to come from everywhere. She jumped up, looked around and saw no one other than her parents on the bench.

She ran to the gate and called to her parents.

"Did you say something?"

Her parents looked at her with blank expressions.

"Didn't you hear that voice?"

They shook their heads.

She went back to the stone, knelt down and touched it again. As she did an image of a face filled her mind. It was a man who appeared to be in his early forties. His face wore a pained expression. He looked up, gazed into her eyes and smiled.

Then she heard it again. This time the voice was loud and clear and it bounced from one corner of the churchyard to the other.

"Charles Samuel Nash."

Heather stood up and as soon as she removed her finger from the stone the reverberating voice ceased. She was shaking.

"What on earth.....?"

She was brought back to reality by her mother's voice.

"Come on Heather, your father's got his breath back. I'm desperate to meet my new grandson."

Heather frowned and walked to the gate.

She glanced towards the gravestone and shuddered as she thought about what had just happened.

Under her breath she said the name "Charles Samuel Nash."

She shivered as if the chill of a December day had crept over her skin.

### Chapter 9

It had been a whirlwind of a fortnight for the Maynard family. The new house was nowhere near ready and Sophie's waters had broken five days earlier than expected.

Finn pulled up outside their house and took a long look at Jack alongside him in the baby seat. He ran his finger across the tiny boy's cheek and smiled as he watched his face screw up.

"He's perfect," said Finn in his gentle West Country accent.

Finn glanced at Sophie. She looked tired.

"How are you?"

"I'm very very happy and very very sleepy."

Finn opened the rear door for Sophie who groaned as she stepped out. He undid the baby seat, gently lifted it out and placed it on the pavement. Jack yawned and wriggled in his comfy baby carrier.

"Good afternoon."

Finn looked up to see a bald man in his mid-fifties. The man had been watching Finn from his garden. He crossed the road and shook his hand.

"My name's Kieran, pleased to meet you."

Finn smiled.

"It looks as if the two of you have had a busy time."

"You could say that," replied Finn gripping his neighbour's hand. "Sorry we've not introduced ourselves earlier, but as you say, we've been a bit busy since we've moved in."

"No problem. Wow, he's gorgeous," said Kieran looking at Jack.

A look of pride spanned Finn's face as the two men stood over the baby boy.

"This is Sophie," said Finn gesturing towards his wife.

Sophie smiled and Kieran saw the face of a tired new mother.

"I'd better let you get on with things...... If there's anything you need, just ask."

Finn thanked him and turned to Jack who was sleeping in the warmth of the August sun.

"Come over for a beer one night," called Kieran while walking back to his house.

"That sounds like a good idea," replied Finn as he lugged Sophie's overnight bag over his shoulder and bent down to pick up Jack.

Henry Buxton watched from his porch as Finn carried Jack with Sophie slowly walking behind.

He looked at Kieran and screwed his face with an air of disapproval.

By seven thirty Finn was slumped on the settee, hungry and tired. Jack slept in his Moses basket and Sophie was out for the count upstairs.

Rosie was at Heather's and the house was quiet.

His eyes began to close when he heard a knock.

He opened the door and saw Kieran holding a hot oven dish covered with silver foil.

"My wife's cooked far too much pasta, and we wondered if you and Sophie wanted some?"

Finn smiled and pulled back the silver foil. The food smelled good. He looked across the road and saw Kieran's wife waving from the door.

"You're a life saver," said Finn.

"Do you fancy a beer to go with it?" asked Kieran.

Finn contemplated the thought of a cold lager to wash down the pasta.

"I think you've just become my new best friend," replied Finn. "And bring one for yourself," he added.

The two new friends enjoyed the beer and Finn ate his half of the pasta. He put the rest in the fridge for Sophie for when she woke up.

They spoke quietly so as not to wake Jack, who occasionally made little whimpering sounds like a kitten.

They talked about their jobs. Kieran told Finn about his work as a software engineer and Finn briefly explained that he was a graphic designer.

"This isn't a bad old road, and we're a friendly bunch," said Kieran before taking a sip from his can.

Finn nodded and sat back in his chair.

"But I'd warn you to not pay too much attention to Ruth Jackson, the lady next door."

Finn raised an eyebrow.

"She's nice enough, but she loves to gossip. She's one of those women who thrive on other people's misfortunes. It's as if she's a harbinger of doom."

Kieran glanced at the floor and then back at Finn.

"I've probably said too much. All I'm saying is don't take too much notice of some of the things she says."

"What about the man who we bought this house from? I understand he lives in this road and our house belonged to his father."

Kieran nodded.

"That's what I'm trying to say. Just take what your neighbour says with a pinch of salt, and it's probably best not to get to know Henry Buxton too well either."

"Henry Buxton? Is that who I bought the house from?"

Kieran nodded again. "Yeah, he lives at number five."

Jack stirred and snuffled.

"Thanks for the food and beer, but I'd best be getting on with things. It looks like Jack's waking and he'll probably want feeding."

Kieran stood up to leave.

"Sorry the place is such a mess, I'm nowhere near finished unpacking. We moved in two weeks ago and I've still got loads of stuff to sort out," said Finn.

"Don't worry, we moved into this road over twenty years ago and we have things in the attic still in boxes."

Finn smiled.

"If you need a hand with lugging stuff up to your attic, let me know. I'd be more than happy to help."

"I might just do that," replied Finn shaking Kieran's hand.

Kieran crossed the road to his house where Linda, his wife, was waiting for him.

"Did you tell them?"

Kieran shook his head.

"No, but I'm sure it won't be long before they find out."

### Chapter 10

Jack was crying. His tiny voice was getting louder and was interrupted by sharp inhales of breath.

Sophie rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Six fifteen. She sighed, stretched and yawned. Finn was next to her and out for the count. She looked at him with a pang of jealousy. She was desperate for more sleep. If she had her way, she'd stay in bed for a week.

She carried Jack downstairs and fed him whilst watching television. She struggled to keep her eyes open as Jack suckled.

After Jack had finished feeding, his little eyes closed, and he drifted back to sleep. It wasn't long before Sophie joined him and fell asleep in the chair, holding him tightly against her.

Just after seven she was woken by Finn clattering around the kitchen making breakfast.

"Morning sleepy head," said Finn as he brought Sophie toast and tea.

She smiled and placed Jack in his Moses basket.

"If you prefer there's pasta in the fridge from last night."

"You didn't cook did you?"

"No, our nice neighbour Kieran brought it. He stopped over for a chat. I didn't wake you, I didn't think you'd appreciate it."

Sophie nodded as she took a bite of toast.

"What did he have to say?" asked Sophie, wiping butter from the side of her face.

"Oh, you know this and that. He offered to help me get these boxes up to the loft."

"That's nice of him."

"He told me something we should know. He said we shouldn't pay too much attention to Ruth."

"Ruth, who's Ruth?"

"She's the lady next door. He said she's the street gossip. He reckons we should be careful of her."

"I'll try to remember that. I won't tell her any of our big secrets," said Sophie with a glint in her eye.

"Kieran also said we shouldn't get too involved with Henry Buxton. He's the guy from whom we bought this house. It belonged to his dad."

"What happened to Henry's dad?"

"Kieran didn't say, and I didn't ask. But from what I gather Ruth will be chomping at the bit to tell us any juicy gossip."

Finn cleared the dishes and returned to the lounge.

"I've got to pick up Rosie from your sister's at nine. It's a nice day, and I thought I'd walk instead of drive. I think Rosie would enjoy the walk."

"Okay, but be quick. I'm alone with a two-day-old tiddler."

Finn left the house at eight fifteen and made his way along Whitcombe Fields Road. It was a glorious August morning, and despite being early, the sun made him perspire. He stopped and took a minute to consider how lucky he was. He had a beautiful wife and daughter and was now father to an amazing little boy. Everything was falling into place.

From the corner of his eye he saw he was being observed by a figure behind a net curtain. He was standing outside number five, Henry Buxton's house. Finn tried not to stare and recalled what Kieran had told him the previous evening.

He turned onto the High Street and called into the newsagent for a magazine and as he left the shop he noticed something he'd not remembered seeing before.

Across the road was an antique shop. He stopped and looked. He'd driven along the road hundreds of times over the years and couldn't recall it being there.

It wasn't even eight thirty, and the shop was open.

The shopkeeper had hung a 'closing down' banner from the window.

Closing down? thought Finn. He crossed the road to take a closer look.

An old man was carefully wrapping ornaments in bubble wrap and placing them in boxes. Most of the display cases were empty. There were pictures hanging on the wall. He was drawn to a beautiful painting of a huge black bird soaring over a landscape of trees.

The old man moved towards the display and smiled at Finn through the window. He opened a display case which contained necklaces, rings and brooches.

Finn spotted a gold ring with two patterns etched onto its face. There was something familiar about the patterns. He became fascinated by the red circular symbols. He was mesmerised until he was distracted by the man tapping on the window. The shopkeeper gestured at Finn to enter the shop.

He pushed the door and heard the ping of a bell which rang as it opened. The place smelt musty and old. In the corner where the wall met the ceiling was a damp patch and the paint was flaking.

"I've lived around here for years and before today I've never noticed your shop," said Finn as he gazed around the half empty display cases.

"Better late than never," replied the old man.

"And now you're closing down?"

"Better never than late," said the old man with an air of sadness.

"How long have you had this shop?"

"Longer than I care to remember."

Finn looked at the ring in the display case.

"Do you like it?"

Finn didn't answer, he continued to admire the ring.

"Would you like a closer look?"

"Huh, um, sorry yes please."

The old man gave Finn the ring.

He took the ring from the shopkeeper in his right hand and instinctively pushed out the middle finger of his left hand. The ring slipped into place. Again, Finn fixed his eyes upon the patterns. He was drawn to them and as he studied the ring in the sunlight streaming through the window he sensed something deep inside urging him not to remove it.

The shopkeeper passed him a jeweller's loupe.

"Here, use this."

He looked through the eyeglass and saw that the two circular patterns were not engraved into the ring, they were tiny individual red stones which had been placed into grooves etched into the face of the ring.

"Wow, the workmanship is outstanding," said Finn as he examined the detail of the ring.

"Are those rubies?"

The shopkeeper nodded.

"Amazing!"

Reluctantly, Finn tried to slide the ring from his finger, but it wouldn't move. He tried again, but it was jammed behind the joint of his finger.

"It slid on easily enough, why won't it come off?"

"Let me help," said the shopkeeper. "Hold on young man, we need something to lubricate that finger, something to help slide that ring off."

The shopkeeper disappeared through a door and returned with a plastic bottle of washing up liquid.

"This should get it off for you," he said as he rubbed the soapy liquid into Finn's finger. "Have a go now."

Finn pulled at the ring, but it wouldn't move.

"It's stuck fast," said Finn, with a hint of panic in his voice.

"Just relax, panicking won't make it any easier."

Finn admired the ring, and the truth was, he didn't want to give it back. There was something about it that made him feel different. It was a feeling he'd not experienced before.

Finn Maynard wasn't a shy person, but he wasn't a man who stood out in a crowd. Throughout his life he'd been someone who was comfortable in the middle ground. Happy not to rock the boat unless he felt passionate about something. He was the sort of man that didn't go out of his way to make friends, but once he'd befriended someone, they'd soon discover how lucky they were to know him. Finn was a true gentleman.

But wearing the ring made him feel different. He felt assertive and more decisive.

"How much is it?" asked Finn.

"That's a good question, but I'm afraid I don't know. Wait there while I find my book."

The shopkeeper rummaged around boxes and crates looking for a book in which he'd noted the prices of his stock.

"I'm sorry sir, but I appear to have misplaced my little red price book."

"Can't you remember, or have a guess?"

The shopkeeper screwed his face as he tried to remember.

"I think it may have been a couple of hundred pounds, but I'm not sure."

Finn pulled his wallet from his pocket.

What am I thinking, this is madness thought Finn. I can't afford to spend money on a gold ring.

The shopkeeper noticed Finn had a credit card in his wallet.

"I'm afraid I can only take cash, I don't have one of those card machines to take your money."

"I don't have any cash on me, other than the change in my pocket."

Finn wished he'd never set foot in the shop.

Suddenly he became overcome with a sense of assertiveness.

I work hard for my money, and if I want this ring, I'm damn well going to buy it, he thought.

He glanced at the time and hadn't realised how late it was. It was nearly nine o'clock.

"Would you trust me?" said Finn.

The shopkeeper looked up.

"I need to collect my daughter, she's with my sister-in-law and she's expecting me."

He handed the shopkeeper his debit card.

"Will you take this for security, and after I've picked up my little girl and taken her home, I'll get cash and come back and pay you. I'll be back by midday at the latest."

The shopkeeper shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I'll be gone before then."

"Sorry, but I don't know what else to suggest, I can't get it off."

The shopkeeper stood in silence whilst he considered what to do.

His kind eyes smiled as he looked at Finn.

"I'll tell you what........ you can have it........ you don't have to pay me."

Finn looked at the man curiously.

"But you told me that you wanted two hundred pounds."

The shopkeeper shrugged his shoulders.

"Let me have your address, I'll send you the money." said Finn.

He shook his head.

"I've run this shop for over sixty years, and before me it was my father's and before him it was run by his father. That ring has been here as long as I can remember. I'm sure it was here when my grandfather was alive, and nobody has ever shown an interest in it. Until now that is."

Finn frowned.

"You've not found the ring, the ring's found you," smiled the shopkeeper.

"But I just can't take it."

"Yes you can. I'm an old man and no one will inherit this shop or any of this stuff when I'm gone. I don't need the money. Please take it, consider it a gift."

Finn turned the ring in the sunlight.

"It truly is a beautiful thing."

"Take it and do it before I change my mind."

A grandfather clock chimed in the corner.

"You had better get going, it's nine o'clock........ your daughter will wonder where you are."

Finn sighed.

"Thank you, you're a kind and generous man. Tell me, what's your name?"

"Go, get your daughter, you don't need to know my name."

The shopkeeper gently nudged Finn towards the door.

"Go now, or you'll be late."

Finn shook his head. The shopkeeper had won. He smiled and left the shop. The man smiled and waved him on his way through the window.

From his shop the old man stared as he disappeared from view, then instead of a smile, he wore a sinister expression.

Finn was late. He'd promised Sophie he wouldn't leave her on her own for long while he picked Rosie up from Heather's.

He hurried around the corner and into Whitcombe Fields Road holding his daughter's hand.

Rosie was excited to meet her new brother, she couldn't stop asking questions about him. She'd seen him two days ago in the maternity hospital and she couldn't wait to see him again.

Finn stopped outside the house and searched for his keys. He took them from his pocket with his left hand and as he fumbled to find the key to the door he noticed that the gold ring had gone from his finger.

He put his hand back into his pocket and found it. It had slipped off. Finn was confused. He took the ring from his pocket and looked at it. He slipped it back onto his middle finger and saw how loose it was. It made no sense. A red mark remained just below his finger joint where it had been earlier.

"Daddy, I want to see Jack," called Rosie.

Finn snapped back to reality. He slipped it back into his pocket and opened the door.

Rosie rushed passed.

"Where's Jack, mummy I want to see Jack?"

"Shush Rosie, you'll wake him."

Sophie knelt to her daughter's level.

"We need to be very quiet, he's tired and has just got to sleep....... shall we see him?"

She nodded and followed her mother to the lounge.

Her face lit up when she saw him scrunched up and sleeping in his Moses basket.

"What do you think?" asked Sophie.

"I love him mummy. He's tiny."

Finn put his arms around his wife.

"I'm sorry I took so long, is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, but what took you so long? I expected you to be back an hour ago. Did Heather keep you talking?"

Finn shook his head.

"I just took longer than I thought."

Sophie looked at him and sensed he wasn't telling the truth.

"Are you okay?"

Finn nodded.

"Everything's fine."

He stood over Jack and watched as he slept.

"Don't you dare wake him up," said Sophie.

She looked tired.

"Go upstairs and lie down, I'll take over," said Finn as he kissed her on the forehead.

"No, I'm okay, I'd prefer to keep busy. I'll collapse in a heap when I'm ready," she replied with a smile.

Finn turned to her and looked serious.

"Do you recall an antique shop on the High Street, opposite the newsagent?"

She shook her head.

"Neither do I, but it was there this morning."

He pulled the ring from his pocket and placed it in her hand.

"What's this?"

"It came from the antique shop."

Sophie examined it and looked at him with a churlish stare.

"Jesus, Finn, what were you thinking, how much did you pay for this? It's gold."

"I didn't pay for it. At first the shopkeeper said he wanted a couple of hundred, but in the end he let me have it."

After Finn had explained what had happened, Sophie blew out a long sigh and handed it back.

"Well, now you've removed it, you should return it."

"He said I could keep it," replied Finn as he snatched it back from her.

"Take it back to the shop. You never know he may have had a change of heart and want it back."

Sophie saw a look in her husband's eye which she didn't like.

"Did he only want two hundred pounds for it? Because if you ask me, it's worth a lot more."

He glanced at his watch.

"He said he would be closed and gone by now, I don't think it's worth it."

"Go now and hurry, he may still be there," snapped Sophie.

He knew she was right, he should return it.

"Okay," he sighed.

Finn jumped in the car and headed to the High Street.

He parked on the main road outside the newsagent and got out.

The antique shop across the road was boarded up and empty.

He looked at the dusty windows and the weathered door. Paint flaked on the window seals. The place looked old and tired. It was a mess, and looked different to how it had earlier that morning.

He went into the newsagent.

"Hi, can I ask you a quick question?"

The lady looked up and smiled.

"Do you know what time the antique shop closed this morning?"

"Antique shop?"

"Yes, the one opposite," said Finn as he pointed across the road.

The lady walked to the door.

"Where?"

"Directly opposite, right there."

The lady frowned.

"That's not an antique shop. The last time it was open it was a sandwich shop."

"Are you sure?"

The lady nodded.

Finn was going to explain what had happened earlier, but decided against it. He didn't want to run the risk of sounding insane.

He thanked her and stepped out of the shop.

Dodging the traffic he dashed over the road to take a closer look.

A rusty padlock secured the door. He turned his attention to the window and squinted as he peered into the darkness of the shop. Old newspapers and junk mail littered the floor. Against the back wall stood a refrigerator which had once dispensed drinks. He could see a peeling sticker showing a faded Coca-Cola logo.

With the palm of his hand he wiped away grime from the window.

He looked again and saw the same damp patch and flaking paint he'd seen earlier.

He took the ring from his pocket, looked at it and quickly put it back.

I must be going mad.

He glanced across the road and noticed he was being observed by the lady from the newsagent.

Finn shook his head and returned his attention to the interior of the shop.

And then he saw it.

He grabbed the ring and gripped it in his palm.

It was there, hanging from the wall, just where he'd seen it that morning.

He cleared more grime from the window to get a better view. The wooden frame was split, and the glass was thick with dust.

He trembled as he stared at the painting on the wall. There was no doubt in his mind.

It was the same landscape painting he'd seen that morning.

The painting in which a huge raven soared high above the trees.

### Chapter 11

Mid-September

Over the weeks, the Maynard's adapted to their new arrival.

Jack was developing well. Sophie and Finn were back in the routine of caring for a baby. Rosie was four, and it seemed an age since she had been as tiny as Jack.

She had shown signs of jealousy, which her parents had expected. Finn made the effort to spend extra time with her.

He returned from paternity leave in August and found work a struggle. His mind was preoccupied with his family. He'd loved nothing more than spending time with his wife and children and was desperate to get home each night.

And there was something else which preoccupied him. The mystery of the ring and the antique shop.

He'd spoken to a few people and had trawled the internet for photographs of the High Street. None of those with whom he'd spoken had remembered the shop and the pictures he'd found weren't much help either.

If it wasn't for the gold ring which he kept in a box on his bedside table, he would have wondered whether he'd made the whole thing up.

Why had the thing been so difficult to take off, and why later in the day had it slid off as if it were two or three sizes too big? And what was the story behind the mystery shop?

It was a late Friday afternoon in September and the sun beat upon the tarmac.

Finn stepped out of the car, wiped his forehead and looked at his house.

I need to start work on that ugly garden he thought and slammed the door.

He liked the hawthorn tree which grew smack bang in the middle. He wanted to keep it, but Sophie insisted it should be chopped down. She had told him it was an eyesore.

Suddenly, he heard a ladies voice.

"Hello, I've not introduced myself."

Finn looked up to see his neighbour Ruth, the lady whom Kieran had told him to be wary. Finn recalled how he had described her. Kieran referred to her as a harbinger of doom.

Finn swallowed hard and walked over and offered his hand.

Ruth smiled and introduced herself. Finn didn't let on that he knew her name.

"I should have said hello earlier, but what with your new baby and things, I thought it best to let you settle in."

"Don't worry. Besides, we could have knocked on your door to say hello. I'm Finn, Finn Maynard"

Ruth nodded.

"So, how are things going?" asked Ruth.

Finn detected an air about the woman which caused him to distrust her. Maybe Kieran had been right when he warned him not to take too much notice of her.

"Things are good. We're settling in well thank you."

"What do you think of the road?"

"It's just what we wanted. A nice quiet cul de sac, it's great for the children."

Finn sensed awkwardness, but felt compelled to keep the conversation going.

"I'm considering what to do with this garden," said Finn.

"Good luck with that."

"Why?" asked Finn with a nonplussed expression.

"Nothing grows, other than that old tree. I've lived here since the late seventies, I was one of the first to move into these houses soon after they were built. In the years I've lived here, I've seen nothing grow...... everything dies."

Finn looked at his garden and then to Ruth's which had an abundance of roses and was a picture of colour.

"Do you have any idea why my house is detached? The others on this side are terraced."

Ruth shrugged her shoulders and turned away. He sensed she was hiding something.

"My house was built much later than the others wasn't it?"

"The builders finished in eighty-four, they started work in nineteen eighty."

"They took four years to build it?"

Ruth nodded.

"Why did they take so long?"

Ruth looked nervy.

"I'm sorry, I'm busy, I have to get back. We'll speak again soon."

He watched her disappear indoors.

Strange woman he thought to himself.

Finn opened his garden gate and walked over to the hawthorn. He scuffed the ground with his shoe. Ruth was right. There was nothing, not even a weed. He crouched down and ran his fingers through the arid soil. He pushed his forefinger in as far as he could. There should be moisture, but the soil was dry.

"Hey Alan Titchmarsh, what you doing?"

He looked up and saw Sophie holding Jack.

"I'm thinking about the garden, what we should do with it."

"God only knows when you'll find time for gardening?"

"Maybe not just yet, but it would be nice to have something popping up by the spring. Maybe daffodils or something."

"You can chop down that tree..... It's horrible,"

"Why? It has character."

"It's ugly..... get rid of it..... grow some nice flowers instead."

He huffed and followed her into the house.

Finn stepped into the lounge and saw Rosie engrossed by the television. She glanced up and saw her father.

"Daddy, you're home."

The little girl jumped up, ran across the room and threw her arms around him. He picked her up and spun her around.

"You're making me dizzy," she giggled.

He hugged her and put her down.

Rosie was excited to see her daddy and told him about her day. He knelt at her level and listened to what she had to say.

"Can I have a drink daddy?"

"Wait there, I'll get us both a nice cold drink."

He opened the fridge door and turned around to see Sophie stood behind him.

"So you've been speaking with our nosy neighbour."

"Yeah, Ruth said hello, and we had chat."

"What do you reckon, is she okay?"

"I think she's fine, but I'm sure she's hiding something."

"Like what?"

"If I knew, she wouldn't be hiding anything would she?"

"You know what I mean."

"She seemed a little reserved...... well actually a lot reserved. I asked her about this house and she went quiet. She made her excuses and went."

"About this house, what did you ask?"

"She told me about the garden. It seems no one has ever managed to plant anything that didn't die."

"Apart from that tree?"

Finn nodded.

"I asked whether she had any idea why this house stood on its own and was not part of the terrace...... and that was when she didn't want to talk any more, she clammed up and went in her house."

"Did she say anything?"

"No, not really. Oh, hang on, she did say it took four years to build this place."

"Four years, that's a long time isn't it?"

"That's what I thought. That was when she started being odd and went inside."

"Daddy, where's my drink."

"I'm coming Rosie."

Sophie wore a puzzled expression.

"Don't worry, it's fine," added Finn.

Sophie said nothing. She only nodded.

An hour later Finn read Rosie a bedtime story. Finn was about to turn to the last page when he noticed she'd fallen asleep. He kissed her on her head and tucked her in.

He was going to leave her room when he heard hushed voices coming from the road. The conversation sounded heated.

He pulled the curtain, looked out and saw Kieran and Ruth arguing. He strained to make out what they were saying. Even with the window open he couldn't hear. Every few seconds Ruth pointed towards his house.

He opened the window more and caught the end of their argument.

"Someone needs to tell them," said Ruth. Her hushed voice became louder.

"You do what you want, but leave me out of it. I want nothing to do with it, or them," replied Kieran.

They looked up when they heard Rosie's window creak and saw her curtain move.

Finn watched through the gap in the curtain as Kieran went back inside and Ruth strutted across the road.

Sophie was feeding Jack when he returned from Rosie's room.

"There's something going on," said Finn as he looked out of the window and across the road.

She looked at him without speaking.

"I'm not sure what it is. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I reckon there's a conspiracy against us."

"A conspiracy, why?"

Finn explained what he'd seen and heard from his daughter's window.

"Why don't you speak with Kieran? He appears to be nice enough. Ask him what's happening and tell him to be honest with you."

Finn nodded.

He felt uncomfortable knocking on Kieran's door and asking what was happening. Instead he sat by the window overlooking Kieran's house on the off chance he came out.

"Oh for God's sake Finn, be a man please! Just ask him."

He didn't answer.

"Jack's sleeping. I'm taking him upstairs and I'm going to lie on the bed. You do whatever you want."

She felt tired and crabby and her husband's procrastination annoyed her.

Finn huffed air through his cheeks and continued to watch from the window.

He'd been sitting at the window seat for half an hour and become drowsy when he heard a clattering.

It was Kieran emptying bottles into the recycling crate and making a lot of noise about it.

Finn jumped up, grabbed his keys and left the house.

Kieran looked up and saw Finn marching across the road.

Uh-oh thought Kieran.

"Hi, we need to talk."

The colour drained from Kieran's face.

"And you know why. I heard you and Ruth earlier. What were you saying?"

"Okay, you'd better come in. I'll get you a beer. You may need it."

He followed Kieran and passed Linda in the hallway. She smiled, meekly said hello, and went upstairs. Finn sensed an atmosphere.

"Sit over there, I'll get you a drink."

Kieran returned from the kitchen with two ice cold cans and handed one to Finn.

"What can I tell you?" asked Kieran.

Finn held the beer and looked at the floor. He remembered the brief conversation he'd had with Ruth.

"You said that Ruth was the street gossip and someone I shouldn't take too seriously."

Kieran nodded.

"I spoke to her for the first time this morning. I'd expected to her to tell me all the juicy stuff, but she hardly spoke. We made small talk, and she appeared desperate to get back indoors."

He nodded again and sighed.

"She's changed. She likes to gossip and as I said before, she's our own harbinger of doom. But I reckon she's had enough," said Kieran.

"Enough of what?"

"Bad things."

"Sorry, you've lost me. I only asked about our house. Is there something bad about it?"

"She told me you asked about your house and why it's not terraced." said Kieran.

"I did. It seemed a simple enough question. Sophie and I wondered why."

"Okay, well the truth is, the building contractors refused to work on your plot of land."

"Why?"

"They refused."

"Is that it? They just refused?"

Kieran cleared his throat.

"That's right Finn."

"Kieran, I'm not a fool. What are you not telling me?"

An air of tension filled the room.

"You've started, you may as well tell me everything."

Kieran placed his beer on the floor and sat next to Finn.

"Okay, I'll tell you what I know, but it's not the kind of thing you'd have found in the estate agent's blurb when your house was for sale."

Finn perched on the edge of the settee and waited for Kieran to begin.

"Back in the nineteen seventies Newbold Housing had been granted permission to build on this land. Their intention was to build a row of fifteen terraced houses on your side of the road and detached houses on my side."

Kieran paused for a swig of beer and continued.

"Everything was going to plan until work commenced on the plot of land earmarked as number thirteen. Things began to go wrong. Some of the contractors brought in by Newbold Housing said they wouldn't work there. The contractors included a team of Spanish workers who refused point blank to build there. It wasn't clear what was wrong, I think there may have been a language barrier. The Spanish guys couldn't be understood."

"Were the Spanish workers sacked?" asked Finn.

"No, I understand that after heated words they upped tools and left."

Finn nodded.

"After the Spanish had gone, they were replaced by Brits. They didn't have a problem and began with the foundations. The day the excavator dug the foundations is when things went wrong. Something wasn't right with the pneumatics and the driver couldn't control it. I'm not sure of the full details, but the bucket on the digger swung round, hit a worker and killed him."

Finn gasped.

"Everything had to be put on hold and an investigation took place, and eventually work recommenced. But things continued to go wrong. Every builder who set foot on the plot became ill. I don't just mean they got sick and had to take a week off, I mean really sick. One had a stroke, two were diagnosed with terminal cancer, one attempted suicide and another became depressed and within a day he'd killed his wife."

"I guess it happened over a long time?" asked Finn.

"No, it happened within forty eight hours after work recommenced."

Finn rubbed his eyes and lowered his head.

Kieran continued.

"After what happened, Newbold decided not to build on the plot, but continued building the other houses. They needed to, they'd invested so much money. When the houses had been finished and were being sold, the buyers wondered why there was a gap the size of a house between eleven and fifteen. The lady in the sales office said something about building permission, or mines or some bullshit, but she didn't tell anyone what had really happened. Newbold told her not to mention it, in case it put people off buying the houses."

"So how come you know so much?"

"My father was a builder. He worked on these houses and he was there when it happened."

"Jeez!" exclaimed Finn. "What about my house, did Newbold change their mind?"

"No, they wouldn't touch the land, it gave them the heebeegeebees. Those who worked for Newbold were affected by what happened. Staff left and in the early eighties Newbold went out of business."

"Because of what had happened?"

Kieran shrugged his shoulders.

"So how did my house end up being built?"

"Newbold needed cash, they were getting into financial difficulty. They sold the land at a knock down price to a private builder who built your place."

"So he didn't have the same problems that Newbold faced?"

"Oh, he did. Building work started in nineteen eighty, but the house wasn't completed until nineteen eighty four. It wasn't quite as severe compared to what had happened to the contractors who had worked for Newbold, but still, there were big problems."

"What problems."

"A few of the builders Drake-Butler employed became ill, a few left, and there were fights. But eventually, your house was built. And there you have it. That's the story behind why your house is detached."

"Who's Drake-Butler?"

"Sorry?"

"Who's Drake-Butler? You just said the builders Drake-Butler employed became ill?"

"Oh yes, Drake-Butler, they bought the land and built your house."

Finn finished his beer and gazed at Kieran.

"It's an interesting tale, but I don't understand why you or Ruth wouldn't have wanted to tell me."

"Well, you have to admit, it's not the nicest thing to know about where you live."

"But that was over twenty years ago. It's old news."

Kieran sighed.

"Is there anything else?"

He shook his head.

"I don't wish to sound rude, but I have to be getting on with things."

Finn stood up to leave.

"Okay, thanks for the beer and thanks for telling me the creepy tale about my house," said Finn sarcastically.

"You may find it laughable now, but believe me, at the time people were scared."

Finn nodded.

"I'm sorry, it's just........."

"Sorry, I really need to get on," interrupted Kieran as he opened the front door.

Finn got the hint and left.

Kieran closed the door as Linda came downstairs.

"So you didn't tell him everything?" asked Linda with a solemn expression.

"No, not everything........... But I'm sure he'll find out in due course."

### Chapter 12

A telephone rang in the study. The old man of the house made his way along the wood clad corridor, cursing as he walked.

"I'm coming God dammit, don't be so impatient."

He grabbed the phone from its cradle and growled as he spoke.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Mr. Butler it's me, I have news."

"Okay, it'd better be good Mr. Tempest."

"I think we've found our man."

"Are you sure?"

"I think so sir."

"I don't want to hear you say 'think so', I need to know for sure."

"Sorry sir, but I need to find out one more thing."

"What?"

"The final connection sir, I need to check the final link."

"Is that it? The final link. Is that all that needs to be confirmed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, and don't forget, you can't ask him, he will need to tell you."

"I understand."

"Good. Don't call me again until it's done."

Gabriel Butler ended the call and looked out from the window. He was a patient man, but seventy-one years was a long time to wait. But if what he'd been told was true, then he wouldn't be waiting much longer.

### Chapter 13

December

It had been a glorious summer and a mild autumn, but winter crept up almost unannounced and now the nights had become long and days were bitter.

Finn cranked the thermostat up a notch, returned to the settee and cuddled with Sophie.

Jack slept in his cot, safe and warm in his baby grow. Rosie was in the kitchen with her colouring book at the dining table.

"It's seven o'clock. One of us has to break the news to her soon," said Finn as he glanced at the clock.

"Let her have ten more minutes, she's happy," replied Sophie.

A few minutes later Rosie ran into the lounge excitedly waving her colouring book in her parents' faces.

"Look mummy, do you like what I've done?"

"That's wonderful darling, aren't you clever!"

Sophie passed the book to Finn.

Finn looked at the quality of her colouring. She'd barely gone beyond the lines. Normally crayon would be everywhere and her choice of colours were debatable. Red elephants, blue grass, yellow sea. But tonight's offering was excellent for a four year old.

"Wow Rosie, that's clever. Your colouring is really good."

Rosie sat next to her parents and looked pleased with herself.

"It's time for bed," said Finn with a down turned mouth.

"Can I do one more picture.......... please?"

"Sorry Rosie, it's late, and if you don't go to bed now there won't be enough time for a story."

Rosie huffed and crossed her arms.

"But please.........."

Finn shook his head.

"Give mummy a kiss and a cuddle and I'll get you ready."

After kisses and cuddles and cleaning of teeth, Finn was reading a bedtime story. Rosie was under her sheets as snug as a bug and holding on to Amy, her favourite pink teddy bear.

He read the last page and closed the book.

"Daddy, can I tell you something?"

Finn nodded.

"You know my colouring was really good tonight, and it was nice and tidy?"

"It was brilliant Rosie, you're getting good at colouring."

"But daddy, can I tell you how I did it so nice and tidy?"

"Go on, tell me how you did it so nice and tidy."

"The man helped me."

Finn smiled and brushed her hair away from her eyes.

"Which man was that darling?"

"The man in the kitchen."

"That's nice Rosie. Do you have a name for your friend in the kitchen?"

"No, I asked him, but he didn't say. He held my hand when I was colouring and made sure I didn't go over the lines."

Finn's face changed from one of amused to one of concern.

He remembered how exact her colouring had been. It was completely different to what she'd done earlier that day.

"Did the man speak?"

"He had a funny voice, I couldn't understand him. He held onto my hand. It hurt when he held it too tight. I told him to let go."

Finn frowned.

"Look daddy, my arm's still sore."

She pulled her arm out from under the sheet and showed him her wrist.

He held her hand and looked at her wrist. It was red.

"Does it still hurt?"

"A little, it's getting better now."

"Show me your other arm."

She pulled her other arm from beneath the sheet. Finn compared both wrists. Her left one was unmarked.

"He made me do a drawing, but it wasn't very good."

"In your colouring book?"

"Yes. I didn't show it to you because it was rubbish," giggled Rosie.

"What did the man look like?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't you see his face?"

Rosie shook her head.

"Daddy, I'm getting tired and want to go to sleep."

"Rosie, why didn't you see what he looked like."

"Because he had paper over his face."

"Paper, what do you mean paper?"

"He had paper over his face, so I didn't see what he looked like."

Finn thought about what his daughter had just told him.

"Was it newspaper, or drawing paper? What sort of paper was it?"

"Daddy, I want to go to sleep now, I'm too tired."

"Concentrate Rosie, what kind of paper?"

"I'm not sure, but it was like a sweetie bag, like the one from the corner shop when you let me choose my favourite sweets and the man in the shop puts them in a little white paper bag. It was that kind of paper, but really big."

Finn shuddered. "Rosie, are you saying that the man had a big paper bag over his face?"

She nodded.

"I'm tired and want to go to sleep."

Finn tucked her in again and kissed her on the head. After closing her door he stood outside her room and thought about their conversation. He shook his head and tiptoed downstairs, mindful not to wake Jack.

Sophie looked up as Finn entered the lounge.

"You were a long time."

Finn didn't answer. He picked up Rosie's colouring book and thumbed through. Every page of colouring was random, which was what he'd been used to seeing from his daughter. He turned to the page she'd been colouring that evening and compared it to what she'd done yesterday. There was no doubt about it, they were different.

He flipped through the book until he came to a page on which were two circular shapes drawn with red crayon.

The picture in the colouring book was of a tree in a field. Surrounding the tree were cows, chickens and pigs. Rosie had coloured nothing in. She'd only drawn the two circular patterns. Beneath each pattern was a tick.

Sophie watched as her husband flipped through the colouring book. He looked perplexed.

"Are you okay?"

Finn took no notice of his wife and went back to Rosie's room with the colouring book.

"Rosie, wake up."

She opened her eyes and smiled.

"I wasn't really asleep," she giggled.

Finn opened the colouring book to the page with the two red patterns and flattened it out on her bed.

"Is this the drawing you were telling me about?"

Rosie nodded.

"Why did you tick them?"

"I didn't, the man with paper on his face ticked them?"

He tucked her back under her sheets, kissed her and left the room.

Sophie heard him coming down the stairs. He didn't tiptoe as he normally did when the children were in bed. Instead he thundered down. He flung open the lounge door and stared at Sophie.

"I think someone's been in the house. Someone was in the kitchen with Rosie earlier."

Sophie frowned. "Why?"

"Because Rosie told me. At first I thought she'd made it up, now I'm not so sure."

Finn went to the kitchen. He pushed the door, but something was stopping it from opening. He tried again. Sophie stepped out from the lounge and stood behind him.

"Damned thing's jammed. It must be the cold making the wood expand," said Finn.

He pushed his shoulder against the door and it swung open. He switched on the light and saw it was empty. He walked to the back door and tried the handle.

"It's locked."

"Rosie must have been imagining him. She's probably created him in her head as someone to play with," said Sophie.

"Most children who have imaginary friends create children, or nice things like rabbits."

Finn pulled out a chair and gestured to Sophie to sit down. She sat at the kitchen table while he went to the lounge and returned with Rosie's colouring book.

He explained the conversation he'd had with his daughter and showed her the two red patterns Rosie had drawn.

Sophie shook her head.

"Finn, don't worry about it, she's created this man in her head. It's her imagination. She's a four year old girl, it's what they do."

"I know, I know, but it's her description, she said he had a paper bag....... it's just because it sounds like....... well you understand what I'm saying."

Sophie shook her head.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"I'm going back to the lounge," said Sophie as she stood up.

She left Finn to consider the strange events of the evening. His daughter's description of the man she'd seen in the kitchen bothered him. She'd said he'd had paper stuck to his face, like a big sweet bag.

He couldn't help thinking of that hideous day last December when he'd seen the body of the man who'd jumped in front of the train. The man whose head he'd found. The head in the bag.

Finn sat bolt upright in his chair. That was last December, he thought as he pulled his mobile from his pocket.

He searched his contacts and found the number he was looking for as he walked back to the lounge.

"Who are you calling?" asked Sophie.

Finn didn't answer, he was waiting for his call to be answered.

"Hi Sally, it's Finn."

"Hi mate how are you doing?"

Finn found it difficult to hear her, it sounded as if she was in a busy bar or a restaurant.

"I'm okay. I won't keep you long, it sounds like you're having fun."

"Yeah, we're having a great evening."

"I need to ask you a quick question. Remember that horrible train journey at the end of last year?"

"Of course I do. How could I ever forget?"

"Can you remember the date it happened?"

"Are you joking with me?" said Sally. Finn sensed an uneasy tone in her voice.

"I'm not joking, I know it was December, but I can't recall which day. I think I must have blocked it from my mind."

"You really don't know, do you?"

Finn grunted and shook his head at his phone.

"It was a year ago Finn, a year ago today."

Finn shuddered. "Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure. I will never forget, not for the rest of my days."

"Why?"

"Because it happened on Luke's twelfth birthday. We're out together now in Pizza Hut celebrating his thirteenth. That's why I'll never forget. It was December fourteenth two thousand and four."

Finn said nothing. He dropped the phone to the floor.

Sophie could hear Sally's voice crackling over the phone as it lay on the carpet.

"Finn, Finn. Is everything okay?"

### Chapter 14

Heather lay in her bed deep in thought. She'd told nobody what happened in the graveyard last August, the day she'd visited Sophie in the maternity hospital. The memory of hearing the name echoing around the walls of the old church haunted her. She recalled it with crystal clarity.

'Charles Samuel Nash'.

She didn't know who Charles Nash was, but was sure he had a connection with the church at the bottom of St. Michaels Hill.

Another memory had returned from when she was young. Over the past few months she recalled memories of visiting her great grandmother Elizabeth in hospital during her final hours.

Being a devout Christian, Elizabeth had not been scared of dying. In fact, she'd embraced the knowledge that she would pass through a door and enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Elizabeth had a strong connection with those who'd passed over. She took comfort knowing that those to whom she'd been close and who'd passed before her were now in a place in which their souls continued to exist in happiness. Elizabeth had a reputation of being someone different to most. Many people knew of her gift of speaking with the dead, and friends and neighbours turned to her for assurance that their loved ones who'd passed away had found peace and contentment.

Elizabeth knew that Heather inherited the same gift which skipped two generations. Neither her daughter, nor her granddaughter showed any signs of sharing her abilities.

Elizabeth was extremely ill the last time she'd talked to Heather. Heather saw her a few hours before she'd died. Elizabeth needed to tell her of the gift she'd inherited.

Heather remembered sitting with her parents and sister at Elizabeth's bedside in Frenchay Hospital. Heather was only seven and the sight of her great grandmother with tubes attached to keep her alive scared her. Elizabeth was weak, but had enough strength to beckon Heather to move closer. Elizabeth gestured to Heather to come close enough for her to whisper in her ear. Heather was scared and nervously climbed upon the bed to listen to her great grandmother.

Elizabeth's feeble voice was barely above a whisper and Heather couldn't hear Elizabeth's words. Heather shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. Elizabeth beckoned her to move even closer, and whispered a second time. As she spoke she ran her finger over a small silver cross which hung from her neck. This time Heather heard Elizabeth's words and was scared by what she'd been told. She climbed from the bed, sat down and shivered as an icy chill made the soft hairs on her arms stand on end.

At the time what Elizabeth said meant nothing to her, but as she grew older and discovered more about Elizabeth she'd understood her great grandmother's final words.

Eighteen years later, Heather could still recall what she'd said.

"Heather, you are blessed with the veil of tears. Learn to use your gift wisely."

What is the veil of tears? She didn't understand. She'd asked her parents and grandparents what it meant, but no one wanted to discuss it. Whatever it was embarrassed her family, and became taboo and wasn't mentioned again.

Many years later Heather talked with families of those who'd known of Elizabeth's gift and things made sense. Heather had been told of stories of the 'crazy lady' who spoke with the dead. She'd been ridiculed by many. Elizabeth was considered a medium, clairvoyant, and psychic and in the nineteenth century little was known of clairvoyants, which was why she wasn't taken seriously.

In the eighteen years since her great grandmother died, Heather had no contact with the dead. But since the happening in the graveyard one or two things occurred.

In September she saw a vision of her boyfriend Mark, who'd been Finn's best friend. Mark had died in a climbing accident the year before. They had only dated for a few weeks, but had become very close. Heather insisted that Mark shouldn't go on the climbing holiday because she had a bad feeling. She'd woken in the early hours one humid September morning. Her sheets repeatedly came away from her bed and ended up on the floor as if someone was pulling at them. She got up to remake it and saw Mark sitting in the chair in the corner of her room. Mark said nothing, he only looked at her and smiled. Heather froze. And then she heard his voice. His mouth didn't move, he continued to look at her and smile.

"You were right. I should have listened to you Heather, and I should never have attempted to climb that mountain. But I want you to know I'm happy, but I would be happier with you."

It wasn't a dream, it definitely happened. Mark had spoken to her.

The following week, a similar thing happened. Again, she was awoken by something tugging at her bedsheets and this time it wasn't Mark, it was Elizabeth. She looked young, radiant and beautiful and nothing like Heather remembered her when she'd been alive. Just as when she saw Mark, her mouth didn't move, but her words rang as clear as a bell.

"Heather, you have been blessed with the veil of tears. Only a few have been chosen. Good is on your side. Believe in good, always believe in good."

Heather had been frightened when she'd seen Mark, but seeing Elizabeth made everything okay. Things made sense and the veil of tears didn't sound so worrying.

Heather had been chosen, and had been born with the gift of the veil of tears. The power invested in her was greater than the power given to Elizabeth. Skipping two generations made the strength of her yet unrefined skills immense.

Heather had been selected for a purpose. She'd been put on the earth because she'd been chosen for a task. A task so important it would affect the future of mankind.

### Chapter 15

Finn had not slept well. He was sure he'd not had a wink of sleep. Sophie assured him he'd been sleeping for at least two hours. His snoring had kept her awake since four thirty.

"I can't help thinking about last night," said Finn as he lay on the bed and stared at the darkness of the room.

"Finn, listen to yourself, you sound ridiculous. It's something Rosie's invented. It's a coincidence and nothing more. She's created an imaginary friend. I admit, what she's made up is a little unusual, but she has an overactive imagination."

"She's not created a friend, she's created a ghost," replied Finn.

Jack cried. His voice sputtered over the baby monitor.

"You believe what you want, I'm going to see Jack."

Sophie turned on the bedside lamp, threw on her dressing gown and left Finn on his own to wallow in his thoughts.

Finn replayed the previous evening's events again in his mind. It had been on his mind all night, and he was thinking about it again. He'd never believed in the paranormal, but now he'd changed his mind. In the eleven hours of thinking of nothing else but what Rosie had told him, and not being able to come up with a plausible explanation, he'd concluded that his daughter had seen the ghost of the man who'd jumped in front of the train. And, Sally had confirmed that the suicide happened a year to the day. That couldn't be coincidence.

Finn thought about the head in the bag and the way the dead man's eye stared at him. He remembered how it looked at him as if it knew Finn would be there to witness the suicide.

Slowly, he made his way down to the kitchen and made coffee.

He handed a mug to Sophie who thought how old he looked. He was only twenty-nine, but it was as if he'd aged overnight. She noticed a wisp of grey hair on his temple. He looked more like thirty-nine.

"Please don't worry about last night, I'm sure it was nothing."

Finn ignored her, cupped his hands around the mug and looked across the road to the light in Kieran's window. He was sure his neighbour wasn't telling him everything about their house.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Rosie scurrying down the stairs.

"Can I have something to eat, please?"

Finn stood up, and turned to his daughter.

"How are you poppet?"

"Hungry daddy."

"I mean after last night. Does your arm still hurt?"

Rosie shook her head.

"My arm?"

"Yes, is it better now?"

Rosie skipped to the kitchen as Sophie threw a glance at Finn. He followed her to the kitchen and poured cereal into a bowl.

"Last night you told me about a man in the kitchen with paper on his face and he'd helped you colour a picture."

Rosie shook her head as she sat at the kitchen table, swinging her feet and eating her breakfast. Finn asked her again, but she ignored him.

He went to the lounge, and returned with the colouring book. He opened it to the page with the two red circular drawings.

"You told me the man made you draw this."

"No one made me draw it, I did it myself."

He turned to the neatly coloured picture.

"You told me the man in the kitchen helped you with this."

She shook her head. "I did that."

Finn dropped the book on the table and blew air from his cheeks in frustration.

"Rosie, last night you said there was man in the kitchen who had paper on his face. You told me he hurt your arm when he helped you draw."

Finn was agitated. He looked at her right wrist as she ate her breakfast. He took the spoon from her hand and held her arm.

"Can you remember how you did this?" asked Finn pointing to the red mark on her wrist which was barely visible. Rosie shook her head, grabbed the spoon from the table and continued eating.

Rosie put the spoon in the bowl and looked at her father. A tear welled in her eye.

"I promised the man I wouldn't talk about him."

"The man with the paper on his face?"

Rosie nodded.

"Did you see him again?"

Rosie looked at the table.

"Rosie, you need to tell me. Did you see the man again?"

"I'm not telling you. I promised that I wouldn't tell you about him anymore. He made me promise."

"Okay Rosie, don't worry. Don't be upset."

He left her on her own to finish her breakfast, went to the lounge and looked out across the road. Outside it was still dark and he saw Kieran getting into his car. He was going to march across the road and speak with him but decided against it. Kieran drove away and their eyes met as his car passed Finn's window.

Sophie stood behind him and put her arms around him.

"I heard you talking to Rosie. I heard what she said."

Finn nodded.

"I'll sort this out. I need to find out what Kieran's not telling me."

Sophie nodded and kissed him on his neck.

"You'd better get a move on, you'll be late for work."

Finn sighed and made his way to the bathroom to have a wash and shave.

Sophie considered what Rosie had told Finn. She had to admit that it was strange that it had happened a year since the suicide.

Unlike Finn, Sophie had always believed in spirits and ghosts and pondered what had happened. Maybe Rosie had seen something last night. If it wasn't a ghost of someone who had thrown himself in front of the train, then maybe it was a ghost of another person who'd lived in their house before them.

Later that morning, after Finn had left for work and she'd dropped Rosie at reception class, Sophie was strapping Jack into the car and was ready to go shopping, when she saw Ruth walking along the road towards her house. In the months they'd lived there Sophie had hardly said two words to her neighbour. Other than Kieran, they'd spoken to almost nobody in the street. It was as if everyone was trying to avoid them. Even making eye contact was difficult.

As Ruth approached her house Sophie took time to adjust Jack's straps. She wanted to time it so she shut the car door just as Ruth got to her gate.

"Hi Ruth, cold morning isn't it?"

Ruth nodded. Sophie sensed an awkward conversation was about to take place, but was determined to speak with her. She came right out with it.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I'm busy, can we speak later?"

"No, Ruth if you don't mind I'd prefer to talk with you now. I promise I won't keep you. Jack's in the car, and we're in a hurry so it won't take long."

Ruth sighed and turned to face her.

"Okay, how can I help?"

"What happened to the man who lived here before us?"

Ruth looked apprehensive and ran her fingers across the top of her garden gate.

"I don't know what happened, he was an old man, and I presume he died of old age."

Sophie was sure Ruth wasn't telling the truth.

"Did you know him?"

Ruth shook her head. "Not very well, he wasn't much of a talker."

"Did he die in the house, or in hospital?"

"Sorry Sophie, I'm not sure what happened....... he just died."

Ruth was a goddamn awful liar.

"So you live next door to a man for God knows how many years, he dies and no one told you what happened, and you didn't bother to ask?"

Ruth said nothing.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but we were told you're the gossip of the street. If that's true, surely you would be the first to find out what happened."

"I don't take kindly to being called a gossip."

"I'm sorry Ruth, but I don't give a crap what you think. There's something about our house that's being kept from us, and I'd like to know what it is."

Sophie watched as Ruth shivered. She turned her back, grabbed a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. Sophie waited for Ruth to say something. The silence forced Ruth to speak. She turned around, cleared her throat, faced Sophie and with tears in her eyes spoke.

"Robert Buxton was a fine man, he was a gentleman. He didn't deserve to die the way he did."

A neighbour walking her dog passed them on the other side of the road. Ruth lowered her head. Sophie waited for the dog walker to pass by and then whispered to Ruth.

"Robert Buxton, was that his name? How did he die?"

"Sorry, I don't want to talk about it, please leave me alone."

"Ruth, it's important. Something happened in our house last night and I need to know what happened to Robert Buxton."

"What happened?" asked Ruth, her ears pricking up.

"Rosie saw a man in the kitchen, and her description of him was, ........ well, let's just say it was strange."

"Did he speak with her?"

"Rosie said it was difficult to understand him, she said he had paper stuck to his face."

Ruth shuddered again.

"Robert Buxton died in the same way as the others who lived there before him." said Ruth.

"What others?"

"You're the fourth family to move to this house. Before you there was Robert Buxton. He bought the house with his wife in nineteen ninety five to be near his son Henry who lives at number five. Robert lived here the longest."

"We know of Henry Buxton and we know that we live in his father's house."

"Before Robert there was Emma and David, they lived here for six years and before them there was Shaun and Janet. They didn't last long."

"You said Robert Buxton died in the same way as the others who lived here before him, what do you mean?"

Ruth cried, blew her nose and cleared her throat.

"Shaun and Janet were lovely. They were a young couple, and this was their first house. Janet was pregnant and everything was great. Then something happened. I don't know why, but things went wrong."

Sophie waited while Ruth composed herself.

"They disappeared. Nobody had seen them in weeks. It was on the news, you may remember."

Sophie shook her head.

"They were found in their car."

"Who found them?"

"Police divers. The divers found them strapped in their seats at the bottom of a lake."

"Which lake?"

"Bitterwell Lake. There were tyre marks on the bank. Shaun had driven into the lake, killed himself, Janet and their unborn child."

Sophie gasped as condensation blew from her mouth.

"What about Emily and David?"

"It was Emma and David. Emma died. She had been ill, shortly after, David took his life. He couldn't get over her death. He was a very sad man."

"And Robert Buxton killed himself too didn't he."

Ruth nodded.

"Robert was a lovely man, as I said, a real gentleman, but he changed. Towards the end something happened to him. He fell out with Henry and became a recluse. He hardly left the house, and when he did, he didn't speak. We used to be good friends. He was a good neighbour."

"Ruth, did Robert kill himself in front of a train?"

She looked at Sophie and nodded.

"He died a year ago yesterday didn't he?"

Ruth nodded again.

"Ruth, my husband was on the train that killed Robert."

Ruth couldn't talk any longer. She shut her gate and hurried up the garden path. She turned to Sophie and looked at her through teary red eyes.

"Please get out of that house. Don't let it happen to you. Please move out as soon as you can."

She slammed the door and left Sophie standing on the pavement in disbelief.

### Chapter 16

It was early evening and Finn listened as Sophie recalled the conversation she'd had earlier that day with Ruth. When she'd finished, he stood up, poured a scotch and gazed out of the window.

"So we've bought the house of the man whose head I found on the tracks," said Finn before taking a large gulp of whisky.

Sophie nodded.

"And everyone who has lived here has committed Hara-kiri?" he added.

"According to Ruth, yes."

"How do you feel about that?" asked Finn.

"To be honest, it scares me. We've two small children. If there is anything odd about this place we should 'up sticks' and get out before it happens to us."

"I think I may have overreacted after what Rosie said last night. We shouldn't do anything rash. I'm sure whatever caused Robert Buxton to kill himself would have nothing to do with the families who lived here before him."

"But don't you think it's a strange coincidence when you consider what Kieran told you, about the issues with building on this plot?"

"That's it. It's a coincidence and nothing else."

"So do you think Rosie saw Robert Buxton last night?"

Finn took his time to answer. He looked at Sophie and nodded.

"I think she did. But I can't see what harm a ghost can do."

"But according to Rosie the ghost held on to her, he made that red mark appear on her wrist."

Finn didn't have an answer. But he was sure about one thing. He wouldn't be intimidated into moving out of his own home. It would take more than a spectre to make him leave. He could see Sophie was nervous. She had a strong spiritual belief and Ruth's stories were affecting her.

He put the scotch on the table and hugged her.

"Now listen, everything will be fine...... but if I'm wrong, I promise we'll get out of here. If you bump into a man with his head under his arm, let him be. He won't hurt us."

Sophie didn't find her husband's remark funny.

"I'll tell you what I'll do though. I'll knock on Kieran's door tonight and ask him why he didn't care to mention the suicides when we had our little chat."

"He probably didn't want to overload you with any more scary stories about our house."

"Maybe you're right. But I'd like to speak with him again. I'll find out whether there's anything else he didn't mention."

After Finn had cleared the dishes from the evening meal and taken Rosie to bed he noticed Kieran's car was in his drive.

He hurried downstairs, grabbed his keys and told Sophie he was off to visit Kieran.

"Good luck!" said Sophie as he left the house.

Kieran opened the door and greeted Finn with his usual smile.

"Hi, can we talk?"

Kieran beckoned Finn and pointed to the lounge.

"Take a seat, I'll get you a beer."

"No Thanks, I won't have a drink."

"No beers? This must be important."

"Well, yeah, I guess. Why didn't you tell me about Robert Buxton?"

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"I do now. Sophie spoke with Ruth and she told her what happened, and what happened to the others who lived in our house before him."

"What did Ruth tell Sophie about Buxton?"

"Ruth didn't tell her what happened to Robert, Sophie knew. Ruth confirmed what we'd worked out for ourselves."

"So did Ruth actually say how Robert Buxton died?"

"What does it matter Kieran? No she didn't say how he died, but her body language gave it away. I've just said Sophie and I know what happened to him."

"Okay Finn, you tell me. How did he die?"

Finn was irritated. Kieran appeared to be playing a game with him. Finn wasn't in the mood to be messed around.

"Robert Buxton threw himself in front of a train at Stapleton Road Station. He killed himself a year ago yesterday. And I was on the train."

Finn expected a different reaction from Kieran. There was no 'oh my God'! or 'you gotta be joking!'. Finn wasn't sure he didn't detect a faint smile from Kieran.

"Robert Buxton's head was taken clean off by the train. I saw it, I was there."

"That sounds awful. It must have been a terrible shock for you..... are you sure you don't want that beer?"

"No thank you. You should have told me about the suicides. I reckon there're a few things you've not told me."

"To be honest Finn, I was worried I'd give you a case of information overload. I told you enough last time. I didn't consider it the right time to bring up the suicides."

Finn shrugged his shoulders.

"I wish you'd told me. I could've taken it."

"How's your wife taking the news?"

"She's not happy, she reckons we should move out."

"She's not taking it well. Give her time, she'll get used to it."

Finn nodded and looked nonplussed.

"Kieran, if we're to continue being friends, and I hope we will, you need to be honest with me. You need to tell me everything."

Kieran nodded.

"I will, but you need to see it from my point of view. It was difficult for me to tell you the odd things that have happened."

"Okay, I'd better be getting back to Sophie."

Kieran walked him to the door and bid him farewell.

The telephone rang in Gabriel Butler's study.

"Yes, who is this?"

"It's me. You're in business."

"Are you sure?"

"He confirmed the final link sir. He told me he was on the train and he found Buxton's head. They've definitely connected. He's the one."

"Good work. So now we sit back and wait."

"Yes sir. Mr, Butler, may I ask you something? Can I be paid now?"

"You will Mr. Tempest, you will."

### Chapter 17

1st January 2006

Normality had returned to the Maynard's household. Rosie hadn't mentioned the man she'd seen in the kitchen and the last two weeks had been busy. Christmas Day had come and gone and Rosie had been excited beyond belief. Jack was too young to understand, but was happy to be part of it.

Sophie loved New Year's Day but Finn wasn't so keen. Sophie considered it a blank canvas to start over again and to achieve more than she'd done in the past twelve months. Finn was different. New Year made him low, all he wanted was to stay in bed. The run up to Christmas and the excitement was yanked away from beneath his feet leaving him in a short-lived void of gloom.

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 bedroom 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 overtime. 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.

"Where do you live?"

"I'm not sure, here I think."

"What, in my house?"

"I think so. I enjoy watching you draw and play."

"Have you been in my kitchen before?"

"Lots of times, but until today you've never talked to me?"

"That's because I've never seen you before, silly."

Rosie smiled. William didn't, he looked sad.

"Don't you have friends to play with?" asked Rosie.

"No, but I play with my sister, she's called Louisa."

"Where is she?"

"She's shy, she doesn't like to come out."

"I'd like to play with her, tell her to come along next time."

Sophie was in the lounge tidying up and could hear Rosie chatting away in the kitchen. She put down a stack of newspapers to be recycled, popped her head around the kitchen door and saw her daughter playing on her own and talking to herself.

"How old are you?"

"That's funny, I'm five too. How old is Louisa?"

"She's the same age as you? You must be twins."

"Hello Rosie, who are you talking to?" asked Sophie.

"Mummy, meet William, he's my new friend."

Sophie smiled.

"That's nice. What are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and he's watching."

"Why doesn't William draw a picture?"

"Don't be silly mummy, he can't pick up a pencil. I have to draw a picture for him."

Sophie smiled again.

"Okay sweetheart, I'm going back to the lounge to do some tidying. Call me if you need me."

Sophie sniffed the air. There was a strong odour which reminded her of rain as it hit the ground after a hot spell of weather.

She grinned and returned to her chores. She was happy that Rosie had made up a 'normal' imaginary friend and wasn't talking to the strange man with paper on his face she'd told Finn about.

Sophie's concerns that they'd been visited by the ghost of Robert Buxton had subsided and looking back to when it had happened in December she realised how stupid she and Finn had been, even though it happened on the anniversary of Buxton's death. She carried on with what she was doing and let Rosie continue to spend time with her new imaginary friend.

"That was my mummy," said Rosie.

"You're lucky to have a mummy."

"Everyone has a mummy and a daddy, why haven't you got a mummy?"

"I don't know. Me and Louisa had a nanny who looked after us. She was nice."

"What, like a granny?"

"No, she wasn't as old as that, she was our nanny that my father got to take care of us."

"Where is your nanny now?"

William shrugged his shoulders.

"Does your daddy look after you on his own?"

William shrugged again.

"Who looks after you, who gives you food and toys?"

"I don't want to talk anymore, let's do drawing........ I'll tell you what to draw."

"Okay, that sounds fun, let's do that."

Fifteen minutes later Rosie had covered every inch of her sheet of paper with the most detailed drawing imaginable from a five year old. She turned to show it to William, but he wasn't there.

"William, William where are you?"

She looked under the kitchen table, behind the door and in the tall cupboard where the canned food was kept. He was nowhere. Rosie was sad. She'd liked playing with William.

Sophie walked into the kitchen.

"Are you okay darling?"

"William's gone away."

"Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be back."

Sophie looked at the picture her daughter had just finished.

"Wow, what a lot of drawings all on one page, that's brilliant."

"I did it with William, he told me what to draw."

Sophie sat next to Rosie and asked her what was going on in the picture.

"The big house at the top is where William and Louisa used to live. It's a big big house. William said his daddy had lots of money."

"Who's Louisa?"

"Oh, she's William's sister, she's five and William's five too. But Louisa won't play. William says she's too shy."

"That's a pity. What else is in your drawing?"

"Well, so that's the big house where William and his sister used to live, and those are the trees his garden."

"What's that?" asked Sophie pointing to what looked like a wheel barrow, or a cart with handles.

"That's William and Louisa being pushed along in a cart thing."

"Who's pushing them, is that William's daddy?"

"No, silly, that's a lady called Alice, and she was like their mummy, but he called her nanny,"

Sophie became intrigued by what Rosie had created with her imaginary friend.

"And what are those behind the lady pushing the cart, are they farm animals?"

"No, they're dogs and they're chasing after Alice."

"Why are they doing that?"

"I don't know. William didn't tell me."

Sophie squinted her eyes, and she looked at all the other little detailed pictures that Rosie had crammed onto the sheet.

"What's happening there?" asked Sophie pointing to the top right hand corner.

"I'm not sure. William said it's a well, like in ding dong bell, pussy's in the well."

"Is that the pussy in the well?" asked Sophie, pointing to what she thought was an arm.

"No, it's William and Louisa. He said Alice put them there."

Sophie shuddered, she wasn't sure if she liked the direction the picture was taking.

"What's that tree by the well?"

"Oh, that's the one in our garden, you know, the bread and cheese tree in the front. William said it was by the well."

The picture had been drawn in black pencil, apart from the bottom right where there was a colour section in red, yellow and orange.

"What's the colourful bit at the bottom, it looks like a bonfire."

"It's not a bonfire. It's an old building that got set on fire."

"What kind of building, a house?"

"I don't think so, William didn't say. But that's where Alice is."

"You mean Alice is in the building and it's on fire."

"Yes, and she dies in the fire."

Sophie snatched the paper from the table.

"Rosie, that's horrible, I don't want you ever to draw anything like this again."

"But it was William who made me do it."

"Don't tell lies, you did this."

Rosie cried,

"Why don't you believe me? It's true."

"Because William's made up, he's in your imagination."

Rosie slumped in her chair, crossed her arms and looked miserable. She got down, left the kitchen and stomped upstairs to her room.

Sophie let Rosie have a tantrum. She'd talk to her in a few minutes after she'd calmed down.

She looked at the drawing again. There was so much happening. Rosie had drawn nothing like it before. She wasn't happy that her daughter had ideas in her head of people burning in a fire, or being thrown in a well.

The burning building drew her attention, and the way Rosie had mixed her colours to create the flame effect. She had to admit, it was a brilliant piece of work for someone so young.

Above the burning building Sophie noticed a bird soaring just beyond the flames.

Either side of the building were two large round balls of fire drawn in red. She stared at them, they were familiar, but couldn't remember why.

Sophie huffed. Maybe she shouldn't have shouted at Rosie and been so harsh on her. She checked on Jack, who was sleeping in his pushchair in the lounge, and then went up to see Rosie. She pushed her door open to find her lying on her bed looking at a comic.

"Are you okay?"

Rosie nodded, but didn't look up. Sophie sat next to her and ran her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"I'm sorry I shouted."

Rosie continued to read her comic and didn't speak.

"It was just that the drawing you made up was scary, that's all...... I'm sorry."

"But I didn't make it up, it was William's idea, he told me what to draw."

"I know, that's okay. Hopefully next time William will ask you to draw something nice."

Finn returned home late after a long and drawn out meeting. It was a dark and wet evening in late February. Sophie pulled a dried up meal from the oven which had been keeping warm for two hours.

"I'll say goodnight to the children before I eat," said Finn.

"They're both sleeping, Rosie went to bed early, she was in a mood," said Sophie as she put the hot plate on the table.

"Sorry, if I'd known you'd be back as late as this, I would have cooked later for you."

"Don't worry, this'll do just fine," said Finn, as he moved the food around the plate with his fork.

"What's the matter with Rosie, why's she in a mood?"

"Oh, nothing, I had a word with her over something she'd drawn, it was my fault, and I shouldn't have said anything."

"About what?"

"It was nothing, she drew a picture, and it was,...... well, a little unusual for her, It wasn't the style of drawing she would usually come up with."

"Unusual? In what way?"

"It was graphic, a lady burning in a fire and being chased by dogs, children being put in a well....... I don't know, it was horrible, and I snapped at her."

Finn pushed back in his chair and listened to Sophie.

"That's not her normal thing is it? But to be honest, it makes a change from her attempts at fluffy animals and rainbows," said Finn, with half a smile.

"I'm serious, you should see it, I don't think you'll find it so funny."

Sophie went to the lounge, returned with the drawing and placed it in front of Finn on the kitchen table.

"Whoa! I see what you mean, that's creepy."

"She's got a new imaginary friend. She said he told her to draw it."

Sophie continued to tell Finn what all the different elements of the picture were. He grimaced when she pointed to the children in the well and the burning lady.

"Oh, and that's supposed to be the hawthorn tree in the front garden," added Sophie as she gestured to the tree next to the well.

"And she said her imaginary friend told her to draw this?"

"Yes, she said his name's William."

Finn looked at the burning building and the two balls of fire. Sophie saw his expression change. He slid the dinner plate across the table, stood up and disappeared to the lounge. Sophie could hear him huffing and puffing as he searched for something.

"What are you looking for?" she called from the kitchen. Finn didn't answer. He returned a few minutes later with the colouring book Rosie had last used in December, on the evening she'd told Finn about the man with the paper on his face. He stood in the kitchen doorway, thumbed through the book and stopped three quarters of the way through.

He examined the page and frowned.

"What is it?" asked Sophie.

He lay the colouring book on the table, flattened it out with his hand and placed the drawing Rosie had done alongside.

"What do you see?" said Finn.

Sophie shook her head.

"Look at colouring book then look at the burning building."

She examined the picture in the colouring book. It was a tree in a field with farm animals. She had coloured nothing, but above the tree she'd drawn two circular patterns in red crayon and beneath each one was a tick. She looked back to the burning building and then she saw it.

"Those two red patterns, they're the same." said Sophie.

"I know. Rosie told me the man with paper on his face made her draw them, and now she's saying her imaginary friend William made her draw the picture in the other book. Where's she getting this stuff from?" said Finn.

"Her imagination and nowhere else," said Sophie as she closed the colouring book and slid the picture beneath it.

"Since we've moved here, her imagination is coming up with strange things," added Finn.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

"Do you want a beer?" asked Sophie.

Finn put his fingers over his lips to shush her. She watched in an awkward silence as he rocked back and forth and focussed his mind. He jumped up, grabbed the drawing book and paper and headed upstairs. He went to their bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed by his bedside table.

On the table was a wooden box. In it were odds and ends. He opened the box and took out the gold ring. The ring the old shopkeeper gave him last summer from the antique shop that had never existed. He looked at the patterns on the ring and then to his daughter's drawings. Finn reached over to Sophie's side of the bed and grabbed the reading glasses from her table and held a lens up to the ring. He examined the two patterns made from tiny rubies which were placed in circular grooves etched into the face of the ring. His attention switched from the ring, to the drawing she'd done that day and then to what she'd drawn in December. He lay back on the bed and sighed. There was no doubt. The patterns were identical.

He studied the ring again and slipped it onto his finger and just like when he had tried it on in the shop, it slid on. But this time it wasn't sloppy and loose as it had become later that day. It was a perfect fit. And just like in the shop he suddenly felt assertive and decisive. He became overcome with an air of confidence like never before. Finn played with the ring and moved it up and down his finger. He attempted to remove it, but it was stuck behind the joint of his finger. He resisted the urge to take it off and lay on the bed as a look of contentment spread across his face.

Finn casually strolled back to the lounge and dropped Rosie's drawing book and picture on the settee.

"Be a love and get me that beer," asked Finn.

Sophie put her arms around his shoulder and kissed the back of his neck.

"What's the magic word?"

"Just get me that beer."

Sophie took her arms from him and was taken aback by what he'd just said. She dismissed it and assumed it was because of his late evening in the office, tiredness and maybe the strange drawing Rosie had done.

She headed to the kitchen and returned with the beer.

"Take off the top and put the bottle by the fire," said Finn.

Sophie warily removed the lid and placed the beer on the mantelpiece. She noticed the gold ring on his middle finger.

"You're wearing that ring, the one I told you to take back."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, I went back to the shop, but it had closed. It was boarded up, and the owner had gone," replied Finn as he inspected the ring. "I like it," he added.

"I think it looks garish, it's tasteless, not your style."

"Really? I think it's classy. Maybe it's time for me to have an image change."

"You're talking as if you're heading for a midlife crisis," joked Sophie.

Finn turned to her, and said nothing. She saw a glint in his eye that made her uneasy.

He got up, grabbed the beer and slouched on the settee. She watched as he ran his finger over the face of the ring.

"Haven't you got things to be getting on with?" snapped Finn as he held the bottle to his mouth.

She couldn't believe what he just said. He'd never spoken to her like that in his life.

"Are you okay Finn?"

Finn felt in control and ambitious, as though he'd found new direction. He was no longer content just being a father and husband. Now he wanted more, much more.

"Am I okay?" said Finn.

He took another mouthful of beer and looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I've never been better in my entire life."

### Chapter 21

Gabriel Butler enjoyed the warmth of his log fire. He turned the pages of his newspaper and settled in his leather armchair.

The lights were low, allowing the orange flames to cast a comforting glow which illuminated his wood clad study, giving him enough light to read the paper. He reached for his brandy and took a sip.

He was interrupted by a dull thud. Butler replaced the brandy glass on the table beside him and lay the newspaper on the carpet.

On the floor behind his chair was a large book which had fallen from the bookcase. He walked over to where it landed. The book lay open, and he watched as the draught from the fire caused the pages to flutter. He bent down to pick it up and was startled as the book slammed shut on his hand. He turned the book over and looked at the cover and saw that it was a copy of the King James Bible. He opened it to where it had slammed shut and saw the page had ripped. The rip had torn through 1 Peter 5:8. The writing was too small to read in the low light so he walked to the dimmer and turned up the lights. Butler frowned as he straightened the ripped page and aligned the words. Then he smiled as he read the verse in a hushed whisper.

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."

Butler replaced the Bible from where it had fallen, reached for a Carlito Fuente cigar and took a lighter from beside the brandy. He inhaled the sweet smoke and looked from his window at the cold February evening.

He took the phone from the cradle, punched in a pre-set number and waited whilst it rang.

"Mr. Tempest, this is Gabriel. Your work is finished and I will arrange for the agreed one million seven hundred and fifty thousand to credit your account by close of business tomorrow."

He paused as he listened to Kieran's reaction.

"That's correct. You and Linda are free to go wherever you please. Thank you for what you've done and for keeping your side of the bargain. I appreciate that living where you have for the past twenty-two years has not been easy, but I hope the money you will receive will compensate for the inconveniences I have bestowed upon you."

Butler ended the call and replaced the phone on its cradle.

From the window of his study he could see the rooftops in Whitcombe Fields Road, just over a quarter of a mile away. Directly in his line of sight was the ridge of 11a, the only detached building in the row.

The hairs on his neck stood up as he contemplated what was going to happen. 

### Chapter 22

Late February

Charlie stared at Heather from the book shelf as she lay on her bed. His dark hollow eyes and manic grin were accentuated by the glow of the streetlight as it shone through the gap in the curtains. She'd become obsessed with the stone face painted by her niece ever since she'd heard her great grandmother's voice on New Year's Day. She'd been told to keep him safe and they would need each other. Heather didn't know what the message had meant, but was sure it was important.

Tiredness got the better of her and soon she was in a deep sleep and experiencing the most vivid dream.

Heather lay next to the tombstone in the graveyard of St Michael on the Mount Without. The same stone where she'd heard the strange voice the previous summer. Wearing only her pyjamas she shivered in the damp chill of the late February night. She sat up and ran her fingers over the dates which were only just legible.

Born ----ber 1- --99

Died September 6 1839

Alongside the grave lay a beautiful bouquet wrapped and tied with a blue bow. The flowers had a small white envelope attached. She took the envelope, removed a card and in the dim light read the words.

'To Sophie and Finn, congratulations and thanks for giving us a grandson, love mum and dad x x'

It was the flowers that her mother intended to take to the maternity hospital.

She looked at Charlie staring at her from a polythene bag next to the tombstone and placed the flowers in the bag next to the painted stone head.

She sat on the damp ground and looked at the gravestone.

"You've found me," said a voice coming from the stone head.

"Who's there?" called Heather looking around the dimly lit graveyard.

"My name is Charles Nash, and this place is where I rest."

Heather was afraid, alone and cold. The voice frightened her.

"Charlie," whispered Heather.

"That's right Heather. I'm Charles. I'd like to introduce you to an important person, who cared for me for a long time. Look over your shoulder."

Heather strained her neck to see a frail lady dressed in a heavy winter coat. She had a soft kind smile and tired eyes.

"Hello Heather. Don't be scared, I won't harm you."

Heather was beyond scared.

"What do you want with me?"

"You are an important person and have been chosen for something very special." said the frail voiced old lady.

"I knew your Great Grandmother Elizabeth." added the woman.

Heather sat up and backed away from her.

"What's going on?"

"I can't stay for long, but you must listen and believe what I say. You've been chosen, and Elizabeth has helped with making the choice. Your Great Grandmother has passed a special gift on to you. You have the gift of the veil of tears. You have the ability to speak with the dead. Charles Nash needs you and you must be here for him as I have over the years. My time has come and gone, and now it's your turn."

"What do you mean, my turn?" said Heather as she shivered in the night air.

"You will find out. Soon, things will make sense. Please be here for Charles."

Heather looked at the gravestone and wondered whether this was happening. She turned to the old lady, but she had gone. Instead stood a tall man in a high visibility jacket.

"Excuse me, are you okay?" asked the man.

Before Heather answered, he spoke on a radio and called for an ambulance. He slipped off his police jacket and put it over Heather to keep her warm.

"It's a bit cold to be out in your pyjamas isn't it?"

Heather was confused. The police officer knelt next to her.

"What's your name and where do you live?"

Heather told him her name and where she lived. She found it difficult to speak because she was shivering.

"I've called for an ambulance, it will be here soon."

The sound of sirens approached and within a few minutes the ambulance arrived. A paramedic man helped her aboard and rushed her to nearby Frenchay Hospital. The officer sat with her and watched the paramedic attend to her. The ambulance sped through the night and within minutes pulled up outside Accident and Emergency.

"She has hypothermia," said the paramedic as hospital staff wheeled her into the warmth of the hospital.

Heather couldn't comprehend what was happening. Medics were scurrying along the corridor and staff were busying around her covering her in warm blankets to increase her body temperature.

The police officer waited with her until she could speak.

"So Heather, now you're warm and safe I want you to tell me what you were doing?"

Heather shook her head.

"I'm not sure. One minute I was at home in bed, and the next thing I remember is being in the graveyard."

"So you don't know how you got there?"

Heather didn't answer and took a sip of tea.

"Did you drive?"

She shook her head again.

The officer sensed her confusion.

"Is there anyone I can call? I think the hospital will be sending you home soon."

"Yes, you can call my sister Sophie. I'm sure she'll be happy to take me home."

Heather placed the tea beside her and turned to the officer. His face became a blur and the surrounding sounds faded as she slipped out of consciousness.

Heather woke to the sound of the seven o'clock alarm. She looked around her bedroom and thought of the dream. Stretching and yawning she sat up and perched on the edge of her bed. She made her way to the bathroom and ran the shower. She slipped off her pyjamas and stepped under the warm water which cascaded over her tired body and made her more alert. The water made her skin tingle and she let it flow over her short brown hair.

She noticed the colour of the water as it ran from her body. It was filthy brown. She looked at her legs and saw the remains of soil on her feet. She shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. She sat on the bathroom chair and examined her feet. Even after briefly being in the shower they were dirty. Bits of grass were between her toes and there was dirt beneath her nails.

"How did that get there?" she whispered as she removed the soil and grass with a damp flannel. Heather didn't bother to continue showering and instead went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

She looked at the bookshelf. The head was gone. She stood motionless halfway through buttoning her blouse.

"Where have you gone Charlie?" she muttered under her breath.

Things were becoming surreal. The dirt on her feet and now Charlie had disappeared. He was definitely there the night before, she remembered him staring at her with his toothy grin.

She made her way to the kitchen of her ground floor flat and saw something in the hallway by the coat stand. It was Charlie, and he was lying on his side and facing the wall in a polythene bag. Alongside him were the decayed remains of stems wrapped in a faded blue bow. She removed them from the bag and saw a weathered envelope. The ink on the front had faded, and the envelope was open. Heather removed the small card from the envelope. She squinted her eyes and read the faded writing and as she did she said the words out loud.

"To Sophie and Finn, congratulations and thanks for giving us a grandson, love mum and dad."

Heather shuddered as she tried to comprehend what had happened during the night.

She bent forward to pick the head from the bag. Warmth emanated from the stone. She was going to pick it up, but stopped as a voice echoed along the hallway.

"Heather, it's Charles Nash. We need to talk."

### Chapter 23

Early March

Sophie glanced at her husband as he took a sip of coffee and turned the page of the morning paper. He'd become different and developed a short fuse which would turn into a nasty temper. Normally he wore his hair short with a little turn up at the front, which Sophie often referred to as his 'Tintin' haircut, but he'd been letting his hair grow and looked scruffy.

"You could do with a trip to the barbers' young man," said Sophie jokingly.

"Pardon?"

"Your hair's getting long, you need it cut."

Finn put down the coffee, folded the newspaper, stood up and walked out of the kitchen.

He went upstairs to the bathroom to have a wash. Finn glanced at his reflection, saw how long his hair had become and how the grey strands over his temple were more prominent. He smiled approvingly, took his razor from the cabinet and covered his face with shaving foam.

"Shit!" he cursed.

The blade nicked his skin and blood mixed with the foam on his face. He watched blood run down his cheek. He touched the cut with his finger and spread blood across the side of his face. Something about it fascinated him. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the cabinet and picked away at the razor until he bent one of the fine blades out of place. It was protruding upwards above the others and was deadly sharp. He took the blade to his cheek and pressed it hard against his skin. With his eyes closed he dug the cold sharp metal into the side of his face, then gradually and precisely dragged the blade which tore through his skin so deeply it almost cut through to the inside of his mouth.

Blood gushed from the deep wound. It ran down his neck, onto his chest and to his stomach.

Finn watched his reflection as the right-hand side of his face became a crimson mess.

A few seconds later he was brought out of the dreamlike state by the burning pain from the cut. He came to his senses, grabbed a towel and howled in agony. The blood wouldn't stop, it kept coming. He howled again.

Sophie could hear him from downstairs and came crashing up the stairs. She swung open the bathroom door.

"Finn, what the fuck have you done?"

He pushed the sodden towel against his face and couldn't talk. Sophie took a step closer, pulled the towel from his cheek and gasped when she saw the cut which started at the base of his cheek bone and ran in a straight line to the side of his mouth. She grabbed another towel and pushed it against the cut to stop the blood pouring from his face.

"I'll get help, wait there."

She ran downstairs, out of the house and banged on Kieran's door. It was ten past seven and Kieran opened the door wearing his dressing gown.

"Finn's hurt, I need to get him to hospital, could you and Linda keep an eye on the children while I drive him?"

"Shit, Sophie. What's happened?"

"I'm not sure how he's done it, but he's got a long cut on the side of his face. It's deep, and bleeding heavily. He needs stitches."

She noticed a look in Kieran's eye, as if he wasn't surprised.

"Linda's not here, she's at her mother's, and I'm not the best person to look after your children. Why don't I drive Finn to the hospital? I can get him there in ten minutes."

Sophie agreed and Kieran went back inside and got dressed.

Kieran made his way to Frenchay Accident and Emergency. The same hospital Heather dreamt about.

In the car a one sided conversation took place. Finn held towels against the side of his face and Kieran did the talking.

"It feels good doesn't it? I mean that cut on your face. I expect you feel as if you're a new man..... a real man."

Finn looked at Kieran as he concentrated on driving whilst talking. Kieran looked down and caught site of the gold ring on Finn's finger. He smiled.

"I expect things may appear confusing right now. Don't fight these new feelings, go with the flow."

The searing pain caused Finn to shudder and was made worse by Kieran driving over a pothole in the road. But Finn wasn't bothered by the pain. In fact he found it comforting, as if cutting his face had been an achievement, a minor victory.

"Linda and I may be moving out soon. We don't want to be around to find out what happens next," added Kieran as he looked at Finn and winked.

Finn said nothing. What Kieran told him didn't bother him. In fact he felt excited.

Two hours later Finn was back at home with ten stitches in the side of his face. Sophie had cleaned the bathroom, taken Rosie to school and was feeding Jack.

"What on earth happened?"

Finn shook his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror in the corner of the lounge.

"It was an accident."

It was difficult to understand what he was saying as he could hardly open his mouth.

He went upstairs and changed into his work clothes. He stood in front of the long mirror in the bedroom as he did the buttons on his shirt. The ring caught his attention as it reflected. He looked at his scar and then the ring. Although the pain was still burning, he felt good. He felt more confident than he'd ever done in his life.

Sophie finished feeding Jack as Finn strolled into the lounge, with his jacket flung over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" asked Sophie.

"To work. I've got a busy day and I'm late," replied Finn in a muffled voice.

"You can't go in today, you've lost a hell of a lot of blood."

Finn shook his head, grabbed his keys and left the house without saying goodbye.

He made his way through the mid-morning traffic. He'd called the office as he pulled out of his road to explain why he was running late. He'd never used his phone whilst driving. He used to abhor drivers who used their phones, but today he didn't care.

By ten he'd arrived at the office. Sally baulked when she saw the stitches and dressing on his face.

"Bloody hell Finn, you should be at home mate."

"I'm fine, don't make a fuss. I've got lots to do."

He'd being growing tired of Sally. Until recently they'd been best friends in the office and worked well together.

When Finn had taken paternity leave last summer, Sally picked up a lot of his work, including securing the deal on the Rusling account.

Finn dealt with Rusling Ltd when they first approached SOS Graphics with a view to them designing their winter collection catalogue. He'd done the majority of the ground work, but was away from work when Jack arrived. Sally took over, completed the agreement and won the contract. The deal was about to be lost, but due to shrewd negotiating by Sally, she earned SOS Graphics a quarter million pound contract.

SOS paid a healthy bonus to any designer who closed a deal, providing they also worked on the contract.

Sally had been working on the Rusling account and was doing a fine job. Finn had been happy for Sally to take the bonus because she'd worked hard to win the contract. He knew that had he been in Sally's position, Rusling Ltd could have gone with SOS's rivals. SOS had lost several contracts to their competitors Graphic Solutions Ltd over the past few years.

But now Finn resented that Sally was earning extra money and wished it was him who was receiving the bonus. Although she'd got the contract, It had been Finn who'd put in months of work wooing Rusling.

Finn took it upon himself to inspect her work. He had to admit it was good, but there were stupid errors here and there and he noticed that a few of her decisions in her designs were flawed.

He had a meeting booked with his boss, Ian Tomlinson, in which amongst other things, he intended to discuss Sally's progress with the Rusling account. At eleven o'clock he knocked on Tomlinson's door.

"Christ Finn, should you be in today? You look awful. How did you do that?" said Tomlinson when Finn stepped into his office.

"It looks worse than it really is."

"But what happened?"

"A mishap with a razor, don't worry I'm fine."

In a muffled voice, Finn told Tomlinson of the issues he had with Sally's work and that he was worried that Rusling won't be happy with the quality of her graphics.

"This is a big contract Ian and we can't afford to fuck up."

Tomlinson was taken aback. It was the first time he'd heard Finn speak in this manner. He was a talented designer, but he was a quiet and amenable man who was seen, but not often heard.

"What are you suggesting?" asked Tomlinson.

"That you let me take over the Rusling account, before Sally does any more damage."

"Okay Finn. Let me think it over, I'll speak with Sally."

Finn nodded with a smirk on his face.

"And there's another thing."

Tomlinson looked up from his laptop.

"I think we should expand our market."

"Expand our market? In what way?"

"I think we should get new accounts from overseas, and in particular the United States."

It was as if Finn had become a different person and Tomlinson was intrigued.

"I've been putting out feelers in the States for years and it's a hard country to break into."

"With no disrespect Ian, I reckon you've been taking the wrong approach. I've been looking into it and I think I've found a way in."

Tomlinson sat upright and focussed on Finn. There was a look of determination in Finn he'd never seen before and he liked it.

"Okay, I don't have the time to discuss this right now, but I'm interested in knowing what you have in mind," said Tomlinson as he stood up and put his jacket on.

"But you understand that if you go chasing overseas accounts you'll be spending time out of the country."

Finn nodded.

"How about Sophie, she'll be left on her own with the children, do you think she'll be okay about it?"

"Don't worry about her, she'll be fine."

Finn returned home just after seven. He'd been getting home later over the last week and Sophie was suspicious. Normally he'd left the office as the clock hit five and was always home before six. His wife and children were his number one focus and work was just a means to an end. But she'd sensed something different about him. He'd changed.

"How was your day? I didn't think you'd be in the office so late, especially after this morning."

"That's why I stayed late. I didn't get in until ten and had loads to catch up on. Are there any beers?"

"Yeah, in the fridge."

"Be a darling and get me one," said Finn as he slumped in a chair.

"Why don't you go upstairs and say goodnight to Rosie, she stayed up hoping to see you before she went to bed. She was tired and couldn't stay up any longer, but she might still be awake."

"Nah! I won't bother, I expect she's asleep."

Sophie went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, took off the top and handed it to Finn. He didn't say thank you. She huffed, sat down and watched Finn slug his beer. His hair was long, and he had dressing on his face to protect the cut. He looked a mess.

"What happened in the bathroom, how did you cut yourself?"

"A shaving accident. Okay!"

The tone of his voice suggested that she shouldn't ask again. He dropped the empty beer bottle to the floor which rolled under the chair, stood up and announced he was off to have a shower.

"Keep that dressing dry," called Sophie as he left the room. He didn't answer.

Finn took a quick shower and strolled naked across the landing to the bedroom. He caught sight of himself in the full length mirror and didn't like what he saw. He was a stone and a half over-weight with a paunch. Finn pushed out his chest and pulled his belly in with his hands.

"You need to get your sorry ass to the gym. You're disgusting," said Finn looking at his reflection.

He examined the ring and ran his finger over the two red patterns. He smiled. Things were going to change. He'd had enough of doing things for others. He'd become bored with providing for his family with nothing left over for him. After his meeting with Ian Tomlinson he was sure he was going to bring in a lot more money. Money he intended to spend on himself.

Sophie was watching the soaps when Finn marched into the lounge and grabbed the car keys from the mantelpiece.

"Where are you going?"

"The gym."

"You don't belong to a gym."

"Not yet. Wouldn't you prefer to be married to someone with a fitter body than this? I've let myself go I need to tone up......... do you have a problem with that?"

He threw the keys up and snatched them back from the air, winked at his wife and left the house.

"What's happening to you?" whispered Sophie as she watched Finn slam the car door and drive away.

### Chapter 24

The following day Sophie was in the house alone with the children. It was Saturday morning and Finn had an appointment with the nurse at 9am to change the dressing and inspect the cut on his face.

He'd enrolled at the gym and was planning to go every evening.

Rosie sat at the kitchen table with a blank drawing book, a new pack of crayons and her favourite fluffy toys.

"Hello."

Rosie looked up to see William again.

"Have you come to play?"

William nodded.

"I wanted my sister to come and see you, but she didn't want to."

"Why not? We could play together."

"Louisa's shy."

"Does she have any toys?"

William shook his head.

They played for a while. Rosie picked up a pencil and paper, and William asked her to draw a picture of fields, a church and a wood full of green trees. In the sky Rosie drew an aeroplane.

"What's that?" asked William pointing to the plane.

"It's an airplane, silly."

William looked at her with a blank expression.

"What's an airplane?"

"You know, you go up in the air and fly to your holiday."

William looked confused.

"Why do you always wear those funny clothes?" asked Rosie.

"These are my bedclothes, they're the only ones I have."

"Do you wear them all of the time?"

"I'm not sure, I can't remember what I have on when I'm not with you. It's a shame I can't get Louisa to come with me, she'd enjoy playing with us."

"She can have one of my toys if she likes," said Rosie pointing to her collection of teddy bears and dogs on the table in front of her.

William smiled. "Can I take that pink one for her? She'd like it."

"Oh, but the pink bear's Amy, and she's my favourite. Take another one instead."

Rosie looked at William. He looked sad.

"Okay, take the pink one, I've got lots of others. But tell her to keep it safe and don't lose it."

William smiled. "Thank you. This will make her happy. I must get back to her.... goodbye."

Rosie looked up to say goodbye but William had gone. She closed her drawing book, put the crayons back in the box and scooped up her toys. She saw that the pink bear had gone.

I hope she likes it thought Rosie as she climbed from the chair and walked to the lounge.

"Have you finished drawing?" asked Sophie.

"I've finished drawing and I've put my crayons in the box."

Sophie cuddled her daughter as Rosie clung on to her soft toys.

"William played with me again this morning."

"Did he, what did you play?" asked Sophie with a serious tone.

"We drew, do you want to see what we did?"

Sophie nodded as her daughter dropped her toys, ran to the kitchen and returned with the drawing book opened to the picture she'd just drawn.

Sophie was happy to see her picture was a nice one. No sign of burning houses, or children thrown into wells. It was a nice picture with a church and fields. There was what appeared to be aeroplane above the trees.

"Is that a plane?" asked Sophie.

"Yes, but I don't think he's ever seen one before."

Sophie smiled.

"He's got a sister called Louisa, but she's too shy to play."

"That's a pity. At least you've got William to play with," said Sophie in a humouring tone.

"I like William, but he's very sad."

"Why do you think he's sad?"

Rosie shook her head.

"So, what's your friend like?" asked Sophie as she moved a strand of hair from her daughter's forehead.

"He's got dark hair, and he wears funny clothes."

"What style of clothes?"

"He told me they are his bedclothes. But they're nothing like my pyjamas. He wears what Wee Willie Winkie does," giggled Rosie.

"Does he have candle?" said Sophie with a smile.

"Don't be silly mummy, its light in our kitchen.... He doesn't need one."

Sophie sniffed the air. There was a strong odour coming from the kitchen. She walked along the hall and stopped by the door. It was a damp smell, but not something nasty that one would associate with a damp house. It was as if fresh rain had soaked the ground after a dry spell. She'd smelt it once before in the house. She racked her brains as she tried to recall when and where. Then she remembered. It had been in the kitchen, the last time Rosie had mentioned playing with William.

Rosie placed her toys on the carpet and played a game with them.

"What are you playing?" asked Sophie as she walked back to the lounge.

"Schools mummy. I'm making sure everyone's here."

"Where's Amy, your favourite pink one? Isn't she at school today?"

"I don't have her anymore. I let William have her to give to Louisa."

"That was nice of you."

"I said that Louisa had to keep her safe and not to lose her."

Sophie smiled as she played along with Rosie's game.

The front door opened.

"Daddy's home!" shouted Rosie, just as Jack stirred in his cot.

Finn stepped into the hall and Rosie threw her arms around his legs.

"Is your face better daddy?" said Rosie looking at the fresh dressing.

"Of course it's not better, but don't worry I'll survive."

"I love you daddy."

Sophie watched at how distant Finn was from his daughter. He didn't pick her up to cuddle her, which was something he always did. Instead he carried on along the hallway which gave Rosie no choice other to let go of her father's legs.

He entered the lounge and looked at her toys.

"Rosie, pick up your things, and if you want to play you can do it in your bedroom."

Rosie did as he said and one by one picked up her toys.

"Daddy, I saw William again today. He was in the kitchen again."

Finn's ears pricked up.

"Oh did you? What did you play?"

"We drew again. Shall I show you?"

Finn nodded. He remembered the drawing she did with her imaginary friend last time. He recalled the two circular patterns identical to the two on his ring.

Rosie showed him the picture. Finn looked at it with a blank expression.

"Do you like it daddy?"

"It's okay I suppose, you've done better."

Rosie looked disappointed.

"I mean it's not as good as the other one you did with William. Where's the picture with the well?"

Rosie ran to her toy box and rustled through her old drawing books then returned to him holding a crumpled and dog-eared drawing pad. She sat beside him on the floor and turned each page one by one until she found the drawing he wanted to see.

"There!" she said as she handed it to him.

Finn became intrigued by what she'd drawn.

He pointed to the person pushing the handcart.

"Who's this?"

"That's Alice, and she's pushing William and his sister in the trolley thing. She's being chased by dogs...... look," replied Rosie pointing to the stick animals behind the Alice.

"And who is in the well?"

"That's William and his sister again. See the tree by the well? That's the one in our garden. The one Auntie Heather calls Bread and Cheese."

"It's called Hawthorn, Rosie, not Bread and Cheese."

"But that's what Auntie Heather said it was."

Finn ignored her comment and pointed to the burning building.

"Tell me about this again."

"I don't know. It's just a building on fire. Mummy told me off for drawing it. Alice, the lady, is in there."

"And who is Alice?"

"William told me she is his nanny, but not like a nanny I have, a different one that his daddy paid to look after him and his sister."

Finn nodded and flinched as the pain from the cut shot through his face.

"This is a superb drawing. Don't listen to mummy, she shouldn't have told you off....... can I keep this picture?"

Rosie nodded and smiled.

"Listen my sweetheart. If you play with William again and I'm in the house, come and tell me. I'd love to say hello to him...... I may have a few questions for him."

Sophie gestured to Finn that she wanted to speak with him, and away from Rosie. She nodded towards the kitchen as she rocked Jack in her arms.

Finn followed her and shut the door to the kitchen.

"Is everything okay Finn?"

"Sure, everything's just fine. Things couldn't be better," he replied as he rubbed the dressing on his cheek.

Sophie shook her head and let out a sigh.

"It's just that you've become distant, as if you've gone off me, I don't think you love me anymore."

"As I said, everything's fine."

"You're not interested in our children, you've stopped reading Rosie her bedtime story..... you're different."

Finn raised his eyebrows.

"And the way you look? Why on earth are you growing your hair so long? It doesn't suit you. It's as if you're going through a midlife crisis and you're not even thirty."

"I thought I'd have an overhaul, sort myself out. You should be happy that I'm taking pride in my appearance."

"Pride? Pride? You look like a bloody pirate."

Finn smirked.

"Why have you enrolled in the gym?"

"As I said, I'm having an overhaul."

"I'll tell you what I think you're having, I think you're having a bloody affair."

Sophie's raised voice caused Jack to cry. She rocked him in her arms and kissed his head.

Finn just shook his head.

"You say you're working late, you've always done your best to avoid working late and now you're in the office every night."

"I've decided to put in extra hours. I've been talking with Tomlinson and I may get contracts from overseas. If I do there'll be a lot of money involved, and I doubt whether you'll be shouting and accusing me of having an affair then."

"I'm not shouting, I'm just asking what's going on. Anyway, this is the first you've told me about overseas contracts. Will you be going away?"

"Maybe, for a few days."

"And you didn't think to speak with me about it?"

"No, I didn't think it's any of your concern."

There was a frosty atmosphere during the weekend. Sophie was finding it hard to be around her husband. Usually a weekend in the Maynard household would be fun. They would take the children somewhere nice and if there was enough money in the bank they would splash out on a Sunday lunch. This weekend Finn kept himself to himself and was happy to spend hours in the bedroom doing sit-ups and push ups. He had become obsessed with his body.

On Sunday evening Sophie tucked Rosie into bed and read her a story.

"Where's Amy, your pink bear? You always take her to bed."

"I told you mummy, I gave Amy to William so he could give her to Louisa."

"I know that's what you told me darling, but where is she? Nanny Grace bought her for you and she'd be sad if you've lost her."

"She's not lost, she's with Louisa."

"But Louisa and William are your made up friends."

"No mummy, they're real.... not made up."

"Rosie, please. I know what will happen, you'll come in to see me when it's late at night asking for Amy, so please tell me where she is now, I'll get her and tuck her in with you."

"Mummy, don't get angry with me. I don't have her anymore. William took her. Amy's with Louisa now."

Sophie had to bite her lip to stop herself from losing her temper. Things had become very stressful, and she was finding it hard to hold things together. She knew Grace would be devastated if Rosie had lost that pink bear. Grace had written on the label. 'To Rosie, my favourite granddaughter'.

After she'd kissed Rosie goodnight she went to the lounge to find Finn with his feet up, watching the television and drinking beer from a bottle.

"Finn. There's a kitchen full of dishes to be cleared away. Could you give me a hand please?"

"Relax, do them tomorrow when I'm at work."

She sighed and went to the kitchen and tidied up alone. She had no intention of asking for help a second time.

Half an hour later she returned with a mug of tea to find Finn sitting in the same place, watching the television and drinking from the same bottle.

"Have you seen Amy around anywhere?" asked Sophie.

"Amy?" replied Finn clinging to the bottle.

"You know, the pink bear mum bought Rosie."

Finn shook his head.

"She goes everywhere with her and she never goes to bed without her, but hasn't wanted Amy last night or tonight. I'm worried she's lost her."

"Maybe she has," said Finn in a nonchalant tone of voice whilst shrugging his shoulders.

"She told me she gave Amy to William, you know her new made up friend. The funny thing is I can't find that pink bear anywhere, it's like she's just vanished."

Finn put down his bottle and sat upright.

"She gave the bear to William?" he asked with curiosity.

"Rosie told me her imaginary friend has a sister called Louisa and she let him take the bear for her."

"William has a sister called Louisa?" said Finn pushing his hands through his hair.

"Finn, why are you so excited? She's misplaced the bear that's all."

Finn didn't know why he had become so interested in Rosie's made up friend, but she said William had a sister called Louisa and this was making something stir deep inside. His mind connected the names. He remembered Rosie had mentioned a nanny called Alice. The names sounded so familiar

William and Louisa he thought to himself. William, Louisa and Alice.

Sophie watched as Finn ran his finger over the patterns on the gold ring, then looked towards the window and mutter to himself.

"William, Louisa, Alice."

### Chapter 25

Late March

Three weeks earlier the stone head had spoken to Heather. She'd heard the words as clear as a bell as they echoed along the hallway of her flat.

She recalled the words.

'Heather, I am Charles Nash. We need to talk.'

It was the voice of a middle aged man with a slight Bristolian accent.

She was doubting her sanity, especially after the strange dream in the graveyard and finding soil over her feet the following morning. Not to mention the rotten bouquet with the handwritten note from her mother.

Was she in the churchyard that night? If so, how did she get there and how could she have made it home?

The dream was vivid. Heather recalled the police officer who found her and was with her at the hospital. She contemplated calling Frenchay Hospital accident and emergency to enquire whether anyone matching her description was admitted that night. She dismissed the idea and considered how stupid she was.

It was late in the afternoon. Heather wandered around her flat, attending to menial tasks to take her mind off things. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of anything else.

She thought of the visions of great grandmother Elizabeth and Mark, her boyfriend who'd died in the climbing accident. The visions were over six months ago. She'd told no one of what happened because she wanted no one to think she was crazy.

She knew that she'd been blessed with the veil of tears of which Elizabeth told her. Maybe Charles Nash was trying to contact her. Who was Nash and what did he need? The old lady in the dream said he needed her.

Heather didn't like nor understand what was happening. She was alone and needed someone to turn to. The only person was Elizabeth. Elizabeth told her on New Year's Day to look after Charlie and keep him safe because they needed each other.

None of it made sense. What's happening? she thought to herself.

The voices she'd heard always reached out to her. Now it was her turn to reach out. She needed Elizabeth but didn't know how to reach her.

Heather had never been a religious person and couldn't remember the last time she'd prayed. If Charles Nash, Mark and Elizabeth had all spoken from beyond the grave then maybe there was a God. A God who would listen to her, even though she'd hardly ever attended church. She knew Elizabeth had been religious and devoted her life to God and maybe this was why she had the gift of the veil of tears. But Heather was different. She considered herself an average person who lived day by day with no great plan in her life.

But perhaps she should pray.

She knelt on the floor in her small lounge, put her hands together and looked towards the ceiling. She closed her eyes and began.

"Dear God. It's rare you hear from me, actually I can't remember the last time I said a prayer. But something strange is happening. I need to speak with my Great Grandmother Elizabeth....."

Heather cried and held her hand over her mouth. She wiped her tears, composed herself and tried again.

"....... Sorry God..... I'm not very good at this. If you could ask Elizabeth to contact me, I would be so very grateful."

She opened her eyes and looked around. Heather felt stupid. Stupid for praying and stupid for asking for such a ridiculous thing. But she hoped her prayer would be answered.

Heather moped around the flat. She expected to open a door and find Elizabeth, or to hear her voice emanating from somewhere.

"This is fucking ridiculous!" shouted Heather as she considered what was going through her mind.

"There's no need to curse young lady."

Heather spun around and saw a beautiful lady in the hallway. She recognised Elizabeth, but not as the lady she'd remembered as a child, but as she had looked in her late twenties. Heather was rooted to the spot and couldn't speak. Her eyes were transfixed on the vision. Elizabeth's hair was tied in a bun and she was neatly attired in a white dress.

"Hello Heather, a little bird said you wanted to speak with me."

Was this happening? Was it really happening? Had someone listened to her prayer? Heather opened her mouth but her throat was too dry for her to form any words.

"Take your time Heather. There's no rush," said Elizabeth.

Heather closed her eyes, rubbed them with the palms of her hands and then looked again. Elizabeth was still standing in front of her. She wasn't translucent or vague, she was as real as everything else she could see around her. She even cast a shadow.

Heather took a step closer and reached out her hand.

"Don't get too close."

Heather took two steps back and lowered her arm.

"It takes an awful lot of energy for me to stand in front of you. If you get too close your skin will blister."

Heather felt heat emanating from Elizabeth. There was an overpowering smell which reminded her of rain hitting parched soil. Like the smell of ozone. This made the whole thing real and she was certain she wasn't having another strange dream like the one she had a few weeks ago. This time she took no chances. She went to the bathroom, ran the cold tap and threw water over her face. She placed her hands on the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. This was real. There was Elizabeth staring, watching her in the mirror. She had followed her and was standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

Heather had so many questions, but found it hard to speak. The vision she saw before her proved that existence continued after death. Should she ask her about God, or about Heaven? She was in awe. After a few seconds Heather spoke.

"Hello."

Her voice was weak and shaky.

"Hello Heather. You better sit down. Follow me."

Elizabeth turned around and walked along the hall. Heather followed. She watched Elizabeth's feet as she made her way to the lounge. Her black shoes left an impression on the carpet, just as a living person's would. Elizabeth entered the lounge and stood by the table. Heather sat on the floor and looked up at her.

"I can't stay for long. The energy it takes to stand here is immense so I need to get to the point."

Heather stood up, moved to an armchair and mentally prepared to talk with a ghost.

"The gift you've been given, which I've always referred to as the veil of tears, is strong with you. I was lucky to have been blessed with it and it comforted me when I spoke with those who'd passed over...," Elizabeth paused and Heather noticed a tear in her eye. "I gained comfort speaking with those who died, and like me, passed to the other side."

Heather said nothing. She couldn't believe what was happening to be real.

"You have been given a gift to do something special. I thought I was special to speak with the dead, but the reason you've been chosen is to do something which will affect many."

At last Heather spoke.

"What have I been chosen to do?"

Elizabeth looked troubled and shook her head.

"That's something which I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated, but you have to believe me...... I can't tell you. You'll learn what to do. There is nothing you can do to stop what will happen. It will happen."

Heather was scared.

"You will be strong and have faith."

"Who is Charles Nash?"

"Charles was a man who was very important. He holds a secret which remains with him after death. You will be his protector."

"What do you mean, protector? He's been dead since 1839."

"Sorry Heather, I've said too much..... but you will find out."

"What about the lady in the graveyard, the one I saw in my dream?"

"That was no dream Heather, the lady's name is Hermione."

"Hermione? You mean I really was there, I was in the graveyard?"

"Again, it's very difficult to explain and I have little time. But what occurred was something we refer to as 'a happening'."

"A happening?"

"Yes, it's the midpoint between a dream and reality."

Heather didn't know what to say.

"You will speak with Charles. I know not when, but you will. I'm here to give you some advice, something to make things easier for you."

Heather listened intently.

"You need a channel. Something that works for you which makes it easier for you to speak with the dead. Only in your case its Charles Nash you need to speak with and nobody else."

"A channel?" asked Heather.

"Yes, think of it as a telephone. Something which will help you communicate with somebody far away. You may remember, I wore a silver cross around my neck which a close friend gave me."

Heather remembered the cross. She remembered it around Elizabeth's neck the night she died.

"The cross I wore allowed me to speak with the dead. You too have a channel and it's with you here.... and I believe you know what it is."

Heather looked around the lounge. She couldn't think. She had no special pendant or locket as Elizabeth did when she was alive.

"I can't think what you mean, what kind of channel? There's nothing I can........ "

Heather's voice trailed off as something occurred to her. She stood up and left the room. Seconds later she returned carrying the stone head.

"Is this it?"

Elizabeth had gone. All that remained was a faint smell of ozone. She put the head down and walked to where Elizabeth had stood. The air was warm, and crackled with static electricity.

"Elizabeth, are you still here?" called Heather as she walked to the hallway.

She called one more time and accepted that Elizabeth had returned to where she came.

There were questions Heather wanted to ask. She didn't get an answer to her question about Hermione. And what on earth did she mean by her being Charles Nash's protector?

Her mouth was dry, and she needed a glass of water. Filling a glass in the kitchen she saw how much her hand was shaking. The shock of what just happened registered. Heather gulped back the water and her entire body from head to toe shuddered. She went to her room and lay on the bed. She couldn't stop shaking.

A few minutes later the shaking subsided. She considered what just happened and tried to stay calm. She knew something important was going to happen, but she'd no idea what. Elizabeth wasn't giving much away. It was as if she was playing a game with her, as if she was teasing her with snippets of information which meant nothing.

She'd told nobody of the strange things that happened. She was a sensitive woman and worried that people would consider her crazy. But after what she'd witnessed she needed to speak with someone. There was only one person she could call, and that was her sister.

She reached for her phone and called Sophie.

With her head on the pillow she held the phone to her ear and waited for her sister to pick up.

"Sophie, it's Heather. I need to talk with you, but not on the phone, we need to meet. I've just had a visitor........... and you won't believe who it was."

### Chapter 26

1st April

The tension in the small office of SOS Graphics was unbearable. Finn and Sally shared the same workspace and were just feet apart. Sally looked from her computer and watched him work on his project. She couldn't believe what her boss Ian Tomlinson had told her.

You sneaky smarmy bastard thought Sally trying not to show her emotions.

Finn looked up and smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile, but one of satisfaction as if he'd achieved something and had got one over on her.

Just before lunch Tomlinson asked to see her for an unplanned 'one to one' meeting. Sally didn't know what he wanted, but unplanned meetings were not usually good news. She expected to be loaded with another project with her workload already at breaking point, or to be asked to reschedule her holiday to accommodate a new contract. But when Tomlinson told her she was off the Rusling account and Finn Maynard was to take over she couldn't believe it.

"But why, I don't understand?"

"Sorry Sally, I've been looking at your work and it's not to the required standard."

"With due respect Ian, I disagree. Show me what is so wrong with my work you're passing it to Finn."

Tomlinson sighed, brought up the files and turned his laptop to face her. He ran through the list of things that Finn had brought to his attention.

"This is work in progress. You know that. I wouldn't hand it to Rusling like this."

Tomlinson could see her frustration and felt awkward, but had to agree with Finn that her work was under par.

"I worked hard to close that deal when Finn was on leave and I want to be the one who finishes it, not him."

"Sorry Sally, the decision's made. Finn's asked to take over the account and I've agreed."

"Sorry, did you say Finn asked to take it over, is this his idea?"

"He brought your oversights to my attention and yes, he asked to take the account back."

She was on the verge of tears.

"He wants it back? He wasn't working on it in the first place."

"To be fair Sally, it was Finn's contract. He agreed that you should close the deal whilst he was on paternity leave. But now things are different. I agree that Finn should finish the work. The thing is, Rusling Ltd is a big deal and if they're happy with our work there could be more contracts. SOS need this business and I don't want to jeopardise things."

Sally felt like handing in her notice there and then. She couldn't believe Finn had done such a thing.

"I understand things may be awkward between you, but things will settle back to the way they were. Besides, you won't be spending much time together. In the next few weeks Finn will be leaving for the States."

"The States, you mean the USA?" asked Sally in a bewildered tone.

"He's planning to fly to Washington. He's been speaking with a company over there and he's close to getting us a hell of a good contract. It could make us an awful lot of money."

Sally didn't understand. This just wasn't Finn. It was as if he'd become a different person. Before, he couldn't care less about work and did it because he had to. He was a talented graphic designer, but his heart had never been in it. He'd even joked about it. Work was a means to an end, and the end to which it was a means was the wellbeing of his wife and young family.

After the meeting Sally spent her lunch break pacing along the High Street. She was livid.

When she'd returned to the office she was still fuming. She didn't know what to say. She walked in, closed the door and stared at him. He didn't notice her. He was engrossed in his work.

She had seen changes in his appearance over the last few weeks. He'd let his hair grow. It was long enough for a ponytail. She knew he'd enrolled in a gym and had been going every night. His once flabby body was trimming up nicely. He wore a tight T-shirt which showed his muscles which were toning up. She'd never been attracted to him, but these recent changes appealed to her. Except for the awful gash on his face. Nobody knew what happened. When asked, he only referred to an accident whilst shaving.

But if Sally found him more aesthetically pleasing, now she disliked him as a person.

She could no longer stay quiet. She looked up from her computer, pushed her dark hair back and confronted him.

"I assumed we were friends?"

Finn said nothing. He carried on working at his computer.

"Can we at least talk about things?"

"What's there to discuss?" replied Finn.

"Well, why did you decide to shaft me?"

"Shaft you?" laughed Finn, "That's an unfortunate turn of phrase."

"You know what I mean, why didn't you speak with me first?"

"There was nothing to talk about. It's simple, your work isn't good enough."

Finn remained calm and collected whilst Sally became close to tears.

"Things are going to change around here. I'm going to turn this half-baked, two bit design company into a force to be reckoned with."

"Listen to yourself, recently you didn't give a shit about your job, now you're talking as if you own the company."

Finn glanced across the desk with a wry smile.

"You're planning on taking over SOS aren't you?"

"Tomlinson's getting old, he's out of touch. We need someone with original ideas. A fresh approach is what's needed........... and I am the man to deliver the goods."

Sally was going to speak when she heard tapping. She looked up and saw a huge black bird on the window ledge rapping at the glass with its beak.

"What the hell is that?" shouted Sally.

Finn stood up and walked to the window.

"The raven," he whispered as he stared at the massive black bird.

With outstretched wings it cocked his head and looked at Finn. It opened its beak and made a low, gurgling croak.

Finn turned the latch and slid open the window.

"What are you're doing?" said Sally in a raised, but hushed tone. The bird scared her, but she didn't want to alarm it.

He didn't reply, instead he put his arm out. The bird hopped along the ledge, croaked and jumped onto Finn's forearm. The bird's talons dug into his skin. Finn didn't flinch and brought the bird into the office.

"Get that thing out," said Sally as she backed against the wall.

Finn stroked the birds head and it flapped its wings.

"My God, you're beautiful," whispered Finn as he admired the bird's plumage.

He recalled the bird in his daughter's room the day they moved into their house.

"I know you. You've been following me haven't you?"

The raven croaked.

"Man, you're something else."

The raven jumped along his outstretched arm and nuzzled its beak into Finn's neck. He smirked as the bird croaked and gurgled.

Sally was nervous. She hated birds at the best of times and the situation scared her. She stood motionless with her back pressed against a rank of filing cabinets.

The raven stopped and faced Sally. It cocked its head to one side and looked at her. It squawked and made clicking noises, which sounded like a pig. The bird jumped from Finn's arm, hopped across a desk and on to the cabinet next to Sally. It continued to squawk and make odd grunting sounds.

"I don't think it likes you," said Finn with a smirk.

Without provocation and with its wings raised, it hopped alongside Sally and became agitated. She put her hands over her face and peered between her fingers.

"Make it go away."

"Sally, calm down, it's only a bird," laughed Finn.

She screamed as it picked and pecked at her long dark hair.

"Get it the fuck away from me, please."

Sally screeched, the raven squawked and Finn laughed.

"He's playing with you."

"Do something, please."

Finn wandered over and put out his arm. He pursed his lips and made a chirping sound. The raven stopped picking at Sally's hair, stood stock-still and looked at Finn. It squawked and clucked, then hopped away from Sally and back onto Finn's arm.

"He's fine, he won't hurt you," said Finn. He stroked the back of the bird's neck then kissed it on its head. The raven clucked.

"He's friendly, come over and stroke him."

The door slammed and Finn looked up. Sally fled the office, and ran down the stairs. He strolled to the window with the raven clinging to his arm. From the first floor he watched her run across the road to the carpark. Her hair was a mess and she had speckles of blood on her white blouse.

He turned to the bird and stroked the feathers on its neck.

"I think you've visited me for a reason haven't you big fella?"

The bird squawked and clucked, hopped from his arm and onto the window sill. It stretched its wings and flew away from the office.

Finn watched as it circled the air before disappearing to the east.

"I won't be surprised if we see each other again," he whispered before sliding the window shut.

### Chapter 27

Sophie fed Jack as Heather placed their order. She worried about what was happening with her family. Finn had become a different man during the past few months. His character had taken a complete U-turn. Had he been the way he was now when they'd first met, she would have had no interest in him whatsoever. Although she had to admit since he'd been going to gym every evening his body looked fantastic.

She was worried about her sister. They had a brief conversation on the telephone and she knew that Heather had been shaken by whatever happened.

Heather approached their table, balancing two coffees and millionaire shortbread on a tray. She looked tired and older than she should for twenty-six. Heather was five years younger than Sophie, but despite the age gap, the two of them had always been close.

Heather placed the tray on the table and passed a mug to her sister.

No one spoke for a few moments and Heather watched Sophie feed Jack from his baby bottle. Sophie wiped milk away from his mouth and cuddled him as he smiled and gurgled.

"He's growing fast. How old is he?"

"He'll be nine months next week."

"Jeepers Sophie, where's that time gone?"

Sophie smiled. "What did you want to talk about?"

Heather shuffled in her chair, not sure where to begin.

"Okay, forgive me for sounding cranky, but strange things have been happening."

"What things?"

"Hear me out, and don't judge me. I'm not making this up."

Heather took a swig of coffee, a bite of cake, cleared her throat and began.

"What do you remember about our great grandmother, Elizabeth?"

"She was lovely, and from what I remember special in her own way," said Sophie with a smile.

"Do you recall the stories of her speaking with the dead?"

"Yeah, mum and gran weren't too impressed. I think our family were considered nutters for a while."

Heather smiled and sipped her coffee.

"But do you remember the things she did, you know speaking with the dead?"

"No, because mum and gran didn't want to discuss it."

"That's the same as I remember."

Heather became crotchety.

"What's on your mind?" asked Sophie as she placed Jack in his pram.

"Do you remember the night she passed away, the time we all visited her in hospital?"

Sophie nodded.

"She said something, just before she died."

Sophie didn't speak, she stared at her sister expectantly.

"Although I was young, I can remember what she said as if it was this morning."

"What did she say?"

Heather paused before speaking and then looked her sister in the eye. "She said that I'm blessed with the veil of tears and I should learn to use my gift wisely."

"So is that supposed to mean you can speak with the dead?"

Heather nodded.

"Things are happening, I'm scared."

Her sister held out her hand and gripped her palm with her fingers.

Heather explained what happened the other night when Elizabeth had appeared in her flat.

"And that's not all," added Heather.... "I've been hearing voices of other dead people."

Sophie wasn't sure what to say. She had an open mind, but found it hard to believe what her sister was saying was true.

"How did she look, was she like a ghost?"

"Don't take the piss Sophie!"

"I'm not, I'm serious, and I want to know what happened."

Heather explained in detail how Elizabeth appeared as a young woman, not the frail lady she'd been in her later years.

"And what about these other dead people?"

"There's a grave in the churchyard at the bottom of St. Michaels Hill, do you know the church?"

"Yes, it's boarded up, been shut a long time."

"I was in the graveyard on the morning mum, dad and I visited you when you had Jack."

"Why were you there?"

"That's not important. But I was drawn to a grave. It's old, I mean really old. It's so old you can barely make out the inscription."

Heather was shaking. Sophie couldn't help but be sceptical about what Heather was telling her, but she could tell she was sincere. Either Elizabeth had appeared, or Heather had created it in her mind and believed it to be real.

"When I touched the gravestone I heard a man's voice."

"What did he say?"

"A name, the voice said a name - Charles Samuel Nash."

"Does Charles Samuel Nash mean anything to you?"

"Not at first. But since then other stuff's been happening and the name 'Charles Nash' has surfaced a few times."

Heather stood up. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I need fresh air."

Sophie watched her sister step outside and light a cigarette. She'd given up smoking three years ago, but the recent happenings had frayed her nerves and yesterday she'd resorted to buying a packet of twenty. There were only three left.

She dropped the cigarette butt on the kerb and walked back into the coffee shop.

"Do you want another coffee? I'll pay," asked Sophie.

Heather nodded and smiled.

When Sophie returned to their table Heather looked brighter and could force a more convincing smile.

"Are you okay to carry on? I'm all ears....... Tell me about this Charles character."

"Okay, but this is just as strange as seeing Elizabeth. Do you remember on New Year's Day, when we went to the beach and Rosie picked that rock up?"

Sophie nodded.

"And do you remember I helped her paint it? We put eyes, nose and a mouth on it."

"She named the stone Charlie, and it scared her. You've got it now, haven't you?"

Heather nodded

"That stone head speaks and Elizabeth said that we needed each other and that I should keep it safe," she paused, "and there's another thing, the stone is always warm to the touch, as if it's alive."

"What did the stone head say?" asked Sophie, trying her hardest not to sound patronising.

"That we needed to talk, and it was Charles Nash's voice...... the one who is buried in that old graveyard."

Sophie said nothing. After Heather finished there was an awkward silence.

"It's not that I don't believe you, but it sounds very unreal."

Heather nodded. She couldn't blame her sister for doubting her. She would have done the same if the tables were turned.

"Is there anything tangible? Anything physical which proves these things have happened?"

"I'm not making this stuff up. I needed to speak with someone about what's been happening and I needed to tell you," said Heather in an agitated voice as she reached for her cigarettes.

Sophie apologised and watched Heather take another cigarette from the box.

"There is something, there's a smell."

"A smell, when, what kind of smell?"

"When I saw Elizabeth. Do you know that smell when the rain hits the ground for the first time in ages, it's like a seaside smell?"

"The smell of a ghost?" said Sophie, who instantly regretted the remark.

Heather glared at her.

Sophie nodded. "It's a lovely smell."

Suddenly, Sophie stopped in her tracks

"This smell. Is it a smell like ozone?"

Heather nodded, "Yes, I guess so, it reminds me of being by the seaside, but it's more like fresh rain."

"Is it strong?"

"It was quite pungent..... why?"

Sophie didn't answer. She cast her mind back to when Rosie played in the kitchen with her imaginary friend William. She remembered a strong odour and how similar it was to fresh rain.

She reached out her hand and touched Heather's shoulder.

"Don't worry. I believe you."

### Chapter 28

During the past six months, things had gone from bad to worse in the Maynard house.

Finn's obsession with work became all-consuming. He'd visited the United States four times since April and spent less and less time with his family. Sophie was distraught. She couldn't understand how her husband could have changed so much. He'd become a self-centred, work oriented bully and was teetering on the edge of being psychopathic.

He'd gained seven new accounts for SOS Graphics and all of them were North American companies.

Things were changing at SOS, and his boss, Ian Tomlinson, had employed two new designers to keep up with the customers Finn had attained.

But there was one account he'd not been able to close. He was desperate to get Goldman Inc. on board. A contract with Washington based Goldman would be worth almost two million dollars.

It was early October and soon he would return to the USA to nail the deal and sign the contracts. And when he had, he would ask Tomlinson for a share in the company.

Finn Maynard's plan was to take over SOS and turn the company into a force to be reckoned with.

### Chapter 29

Mid October

A white hire van was parked outside Kieran Tempest's house. Ruth stood by her gate and watched as he and Linda hurriedly loaded belongings into the back of the van.

It had been over six months since Butler had transferred one million seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds into Kieran's bank account. He'd wanted to move house right away, but Linda had been reluctant to rush into a new property just for the sake of it.

At the end of September they'd found a five-bedroom house in Abbots Leigh on the outskirts of Bristol. They hadn't put their house on the market as money wasn't an issue.

Kieran had been getting bad vibes over the past few weeks and was itching to get out of Whitcombe Fields Road. Although he had never completely understood why Butler had been so interested in what went on in number 11a, he was aware the man's intentions weren't entirely wholesome and he'd prefer that he and Linda were out as soon as possible.

"Going somewhere?" called Ruth from her garden.

The couple ignored her and continued to load the van.

"I said, are you going somewhere?" repeated Ruth in a louder voice.

"What does it look like?" snapped Linda.

"I didn't even know your house was for sale."

"Believe it or not Ruth, there're a fair number of things in life you don't know."

Ruth tried not to look offended.

"Have I upset you?"

"It's always about you Ruth isn't it! Just for once this has nothing to do with you."

"If you know what's good for you, you should plan on getting out of the road too," said Linda. Kieran shot her a glance of disapproval.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing Ruth, my wife's getting a bit cranky."

Ruth strolled across the road and looked in the van. She saw a bed, two cabinets, a TV and several cardboard boxes.

"If you're moving out, you'll need a bigger van."

"Don't worry Ruth, we're only taking the essentials."

Ruth was confused. She'd seen no 'For Sale' sign and she'd heard nothing of the Tempest's plan to move. Usually, there wasn't much that Ruth Jackson didn't know. She was surprised to find out they were moving. She was more surprised they'd kept the whole thing a secret. And it had been a small miracle that Kieran and Linda had managed to keep their new found wealth a secret from their over-inquisitive neighbour.

"What's happening with the stuff you're leaving behind?"

"That's not our problem," snapped Kieran," If you don't mind, we've things to be getting on with."

Good riddance thought Ruth as she shook her head and crossed the road back to her house.

Kieran and Linda struggled to carry their settee into the garden.

"Put it down, I need a rest," snapped Linda whilst grappling her end of the sofa.

"There's no time, come on pull yourself together," said Kieran in an urgent tone of voice.

"Just two minutes please," pleaded his wife.

"Okay, okay two minutes," said Kieran as he sat beside her on the three seat settee.

They took a few minutes to catch their breath and Kieran saw a bird circling above the road. He watched as it swooped and soared back above the rooftops.

"Shit!" he whispered as the large black bird turned and headed back towards Whitcombe Fields Road.

It landed on the roof of Henry Buxton's house where it appeared to be surveying the surroundings. Kieran became agitated.

"What is it?" asked Linda.

Kieran didn't answer. He fixed his eyes upon the bird, waiting for its next move.

The bird hopped along the roof tops of the terraced houses until it perched at the end of Ruth's house. It looked down and cocked its head. The raven spread its wings and flew from the roof and landed on the hawthorn tree in Finn and Sophie's barren and empty garden. It stretched it wings and squawked as it hopped from branch to branch.

"Shit, there's no time, we've got to go!" shouted Kieran.

"Tell me Kieran, what is it?" pleaded Linda.

"It's the bird, the raven, things are gonna happen sooner than I thought......... get in the van."

"But what about the settee and the other stuff?"

"Forget it, let's get out of here."

Kieran scared Linda. She wasn't sure what was making him so nervous or why the bird had upset him so much.

Kieran slammed and locked the back doors of the transit and climbed in. In the rush he dropped the keys and frantically searched beneath the seat. He cursed beneath his breath as they were just out of reach. He grappled beneath the seat until he felt the plastic key fob. He snatched the keys, rammed them into the ignition, fired up the engine and left Whitcombe Fields Road for the last time.

Ruth watched from her window as the van sped away. She was confused. She looked at their house and saw they'd left the front door open and an expensive settee in their front garden. She could hear the screech of the van's wheels as it headed for the main road.

"What on earth is happening in this road?" muttered Ruth under her breath.

What would occur during the next few weeks would make Ruth Jackson wish she'd never set foot in Whitcombe Fields Road herself.

### Chapter 30

The hot bath eased Finn's aching muscles. The candle on the window ledge cast a warm glow which shimmered as it reflected in his aftershave decanter.

Earlier that evening he'd had a marathon of a workout at the gym. Fitness and obsessing over his physique had become his passion. He was pushing himself further each day. Others in the gym were amazed by his transformation since he became a member. He was the quiet one who rarely spoke to anyone and lost himself in his training regime.

A late night bath was something he looked forward to. It was the perfect antidote to counteract a busy day in the office and an hour in the gym. Taking a bath gave him time to reflect. It was important to look back and consider his achievements. He used the time to think about his work plan for the following day.

Work had become his other obsession. Where before he would achieve the bare minimum, now he'd become committed. Ian, his boss, couldn't believe the transformation. Finn had come up with fantastic ideas, not only in graphic design, but also how to market SOS Graphics. He'd gained new customers and there were more on the horizon. It was all down to him. It started with his insistence to take back the Rusling account from Sally, and now there was no stopping him. His negotiations with Goldman Inc. in the States were going well, and he was planning on flying to Washington in December.

He couldn't understand why before now he never had the urge to work hard and play hard. Before now, he focussed on his family and nothing else. Every penny he'd earned he spent on them and he never considered himself as important. Now things were different. He was the important one.

Rosie loved her father dearly, but couldn't understand why he didn't play with her anymore. She used to enjoy piggy back rides, hide and seek and kisses and cuddles. Lately he'd shown little interest in her.

He lay in the bath and tried to pinpoint when the changes had happened. He looked at his finger and admired the gold ring he'd not taken off for months. The two red patterns fascinated him ever since he'd spotted the thing in the mysterious antique shop the previous year. He felt there was some kind of connection between the ring and the new Finn Maynard.

The warmth of the water and the flicker of the candle made him drowsy. Through half opened eyes he watched the flame as it danced and shimmied. The flicker grew until it became a bright flame. Finn slid into an upright position as the flame increased. He got out of the bath and slipped a dressing gown over his wet body. He grabbed the candle which was now burning ferociously and was about to throw it into the bath to extinguish it, when everything changed.

The candle had become a burning torch and in the corner he could see a young woman slumped against the wall. She looked terrified. Finn was calm. What he saw didn't worry him. He moved towards the girl and knelt in front of her. The girl looked at him with an air of confidence despite her obvious fear. And then she spoke in a wavering but assured voice.

"They're not your children."

He cocked his head to one side and tried to comprehend what was happening when a booming man's voice came from behind him.

"This will be my final time of asking. Think before you answer. What have you done with my children?"

Finn turned around, but there was no one there. He turned back. The girl's face reflected a look of true terror mixed with hard gritted determination.

"I won't tell you. They're somewhere you'll never know. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I know your secret and I know you're not their father."

Finn stood up and opened his mouth to speak, and as he did, a voice came from within which was beyond his control and reverberated around the bathroom.

"You know nothing!"

It was the same booming voice he'd heard seconds earlier.

"I know enough to make sure you never see those children again," replied the woman.

The door flew open and Finn turned to see Sophie standing in the doorway with a thunderous expression across her face.

"Finn, what the bloody hell are you doing? It's gone midnight and you're waking the children."

Finn was confused. His dressing gown was loosely thrown over his wet body and in his hand was the candle. He looked to the girl, but she wasn't there.

Jack cried in his room.

"I don't know what's happening to you, but you're wrenching this family apart."

He put the candle down and followed her to Jack's room.

"What did you hear?" asked Finn.

"You, waking the children! Now get out of my way, Jack needs me."

"Seriously, what did you hear?"

"It's late Finn, I haven't time for this stupid game."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. Sophie stared at him and saw a look of confusion.

"I'm not playing a game, something happened and I need to know what you heard."

She broke free of his grip and rubbed her arm.

"Don't you ever lay a finger on me again."

"I need to know what I said."

Sophie sighed.

"You said I've done something with Rosie and Jack."

"I didn't say that," snapped Finn.

"No? Well then to whom were you referring when I heard you shout 'What have you done with my children'?"

He found it difficult to work out what the hell was happening.

"You said 'this will be my final time of asking. Think before you answer. What have you done with my children?' Who the hell were you talking to? There's no one else here," said Sophie in an angry whisper.

He stood in silence and thought about what she'd just said. 'What have you done with my children?'

Eventually he spoke.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"No? Well who were you talking to?"

He stared into the distance and considered what happened.

"I think I was speaking to Alice."

"Alice?"

"Her name is Alice Donaldson."

Sophie was having a hard time dealing with her husband's strange behaviour and had become less tolerant of his ways.

"Finn, please tell me who Alice Donaldson is, and don't lie."

He turned to her, and she saw sincerity in his face.

"Alice Donaldson? I've absolutely no idea."

### Chapter 31

In the well

"Please come with me, she'll be there soon."

"Can't I stay? I feel safe here."

"But Rosie would love to see you......., she's nice."

"You can go, I'll stay here. But don't be long."

"I won't, I'll just say hello and play for a little bit."

"William? Can you ask Rosie if I can have another toy?"

### Chapter 32

Breakfast at the Maynard's' was clouded with the familiar air of awkwardness which Sophie had come to expect over the past six months. She glanced at Finn who hugged his mug of tea. The scar on his cheek had healed well and she couldn't help feeling more attracted to him. More so than she'd ever done since she'd known him. At the same time as being attracted to him physically she was repelled by him emotionally. He'd become an arrogant, self-centred bastard who seemed to care for no one other than himself.

"Have you worked out who the mysterious Alice is?"

Finn looked up from his mug.

"Pardon?"

"Alice, last night in the bathroom? Have you worked out who she is?"

He vaguely shook his head and looked at his alienated wife.

"They weren't her children."

"No? Well I guess that makes everything okay then," replied Sophie sarcastically taking her cereal bowl to the sink.

She rinsed the dish and looked at the back garden. She wondered why no flowers and plants thrived there, or in the front garden. Everything everywhere was dead, other than that ugly hawthorn tree.

"Kieran and Linda have gone," said Sophie, placing the bowl on the side to dry.

"Gone where?"

"I don't know. I overheard Ruth talking with their next door neighbour. They took off unannounced. Apparently they left most of their things."

Finn was going to speak but Sophie interrupted him.

"What's that?" she said as she walked across the kitchen sniffing the air.

"What?"

Just as he spoke he picked up the faint scent.

"A damp smell, where's it coming from?" asked Finn.

"I'm not sure, but I've smelt it before."

The door flew open and Rosie entered the kitchen.

"Jack's awake, he's crying."

"Okay darling, I'll see him in a minute," said her mother.

"It's getting stronger," said Finn.

He was right. It was an odour that Sophie had noticed before. She was trying to think where she'd been last time she'd smelt it.

"It's William," shouted Rosie as she ran across the kitchen.

Finn looked up.

"It's her imaginary friend," whispered Sophie.

Finn nodded and viewed his daughter with interest as she happily chatted to thin air.

Rosie smiled at William.

"You've got your bedclothes on again."

"I'm always wearing them."

William looked around the kitchen.

"Who's that man?" asked William whilst pointing at Finn.

"Oh, that's my daddy."

"He looks like my father. He's got a scar like that on his face."

"Come and say 'hello'," said Rosie and walked towards her father.

William was nervous and stayed where he was.

"Come on silly, he won't hurt you," pleaded Rosie.

"He looks too much like my father. He might shout like mine does."

"Okay, stay where you are."

"Your mother looks nice."

Rosie smiled. "I love my mummy....... Shall we draw a picture?"

Finn and Sophie watched Rosie grab her drawing pad and pencils and make space on the kitchen table.

William stood alongside Rosie as she turned to a clean page in her book.

"Why don't you draw my sister cuddling the pink bear you gave her?"

Rosie smiled and worked on the picture as William described Louisa.

Suddenly it occurred to Sophie where she'd smelled it before. It had been where she was now. In the kitchen.

She thought back to her conversation with Heather. She'd mentioned the same thing when she'd seen the vision of her great grandmother, Elizabeth.

Sophie contemplated what Heather said and Finn was in a world of thought.

He became agitated and stood up.

"Rosie, is your friend William the same boy who helped you draw the picture with the burning building?"

Rosie nodded and worked on her drawing of Louisa.

"And he's the little boy who had a nanny called Alice?"

She nodded again.

William looked concerned.

"Why is he asking so many questions? And how does he know Alice?"

"I told him about Alice. I showed him the picture we did. You remember, the one with the burning building."

Finn and Sophie listened to Rosie's side of the conversation.

Rosie's conversation bothered Sophie. It didn't sound like a normal conversation a child would have with a made up friend, it was as if there really was someone talking with her.

Finn pondered over last night in the bathroom, and the vision of the mysterious girl. Why did he think she was called Alice? The name Alice was so familiar to him. He remembered how the name had struck a chord when Rosie had told him of the three characters in the picture she'd drawn with the burning building and the well.

William, Louisa and Alice he thought to himself.

Sophie was busy piecing together the significance of what Heather had told her of the visions of Elizabeth and the odour. She was linking it to what was happening with Rosie and her imaginary friend William.

Finn strolled over to his daughter.

He lowered himself to her level as she worked on her picture.

"Who are you drawing?"

"It's William's sister, do you think it's good?"

Finn didn't comment, he wasn't interested in how good Rosie could draw.

"Is William's sister called Louisa?"

Rosie nodded and continued with her picture.

"William and Louisa were taken care of by a lady called Alice weren't they?"

She nodded again.

William noticed the ring on Finn's finger and became nervy.

"Rosie, I must go, I need to look after Louisa."

"William, don't go, I haven't finished my drawing for you."

"Make him stay!" exclaimed Finn in a raised voice.

"I can't daddy....... William, my daddy says he wants you to stay."

William took a step back and Finn looked into space trying to locate where William could be.

Sophie watched cautiously, she was intrigued as to why Finn had become so interested in someone who was part of their daughter's imagination.

"I can't see your friend. Where is he?"

"He's stood next to me silly, why can't you see him?"

"Because I can't," snapped Finn. "Is he on your left or your right?"

"I don't know."

"Is he on the side you hold your pencil?"

She nodded.

William backed away as Finn moved to the other side of Rosie. William nervously watched Finn trying to work out where he stood. It reminded him of playing 'blind man's bluff' with Alice and Louisa, but a far more sinister version. Finn scared him.

Finn raised his arm and waived his hand through the air. His hand made contact with the space occupied by William. The ring on his middle finger passed through William's head.

As Finn waved his hand he noticed the surrounding temperature was warmer than anywhere else in the kitchen.

William was frightened when Finn's hand passed through his head space.

He waved his hand again, this time a little faster. The warmth increased and as it did, a faint image of a small boy appeared.

Finn fleetingly stopped when he saw the eerie vision.

He continued to wave his hand, this time with more urgency and haste. William appeared again. The faster Finn moved his hand, the clearer William became.

Sophie watched with her hand over her mouth. "My God," she whispered into her palm.

"What are you doing daddy? You're hurting my friend."

Finn took half a pace closer to the vision and waved his hand frantically as if he was fanning the embers of a dying fire. The more he waved his hand the clearer William became.

Sophie looked in amazement at the image of the little boy standing in her kitchen. He wore dour cotton bedclothes and appeared to be four or five years old. The expression his face reflected was one of fear peppered with the emotion of sadness. His hair was blond and thick, and he reminded her of a character from a Dickens' book.

Finn's arm ached, he slowed the waving motion and William faded. He dropped his arm to his side and William disappeared from view.

When Finn had been laboriously waving his hand, William had been rooted to the spot, but as soon as Finn stopped, William stepped back and occupied a different space in the kitchen.

"I need to go," said William.

"You've scared him away daddy, that's not nice."

Finn ignored Rosie. He turned to Sophie whose face was ashen.

"Did you see that?"

Sophie nodded without saying a word.

She knelt to her daughter's level and held her hand. Rosie felt her mother's hand shake.

"Did daddy and I see William, the boy who helps you draw?"

Rosie nodded. "Yes and daddy scared him away."

"And he knows Alice?" added Finn.

She didn't answer, instead she scowled at her father.

"Rosie, please could you go to your bedroom and play!"

"I don't want to, can I stay here?"

Jack cried again in his room.

"Come up and see Jack with me, and after that please play in your room for five minutes while I talk with daddy?"

"Go with your mother," said Finn with a stern look.

His look was enough to warn her not to argue and she went upstairs, trailing behind her mother.

Finn was alone in the lounge. All was quiet other than the sound of Sophie talking to Jack upstairs.

Part of Finn was staggered beyond belief by what he'd seen, but another part of him accepted what happened without question.

He turned to his daughter's drawing books and found the picture with the burning building and the children in the well.

He scrutinised the picture and tried to work out what it meant. Now he was sure that William was more than an imaginary friend the drawing took on a different meaning.

He recalled what Rosie said when she'd explained the drawing.

In the top left was the house where William and Louisa lived. In the lower middle section was a sketch of William and Louisa being pushed in a barrow by Alice while she was chased by dogs. In the top right section were two children in a well who were William and Louisa. The bottom right was a blazing building in which Alice appeared to be burning alive. Near the well was a hawthorn tree. Rosie said it was the same tree which grew in their garden, the tree which Rosie liked to call Bread and Cheese.

Out of the flames were the patterns. He looked at his ring and then back to Rosie's drawing.

The hairs on his neck stood on end as the significance of the drawing dawned on him. His hands shook as he held it in his grip. The sketch was a montage of the death of William and his sister who ended up being dumped in a well. But why the hawthorn tree? The same hawthorn he could see from the window of the lounge, less than thirty feet away. And the patterns? She knew of the patterns on the ring. But it wasn't Rosie who knew, it had been William. Something William said to her made her draw those patterns.

He cast his mind back to the picture she drew when she'd said the man with paper stuck to his face visited her. The same patterns were on that picture.

At last he understood what was happening. And as he did, his whole body became a shuddering mass of fear. His daughter was connecting with things he didn't understand.

Over the past few months Finn Maynard had changed. His confidence had soared. He'd become more dynamic and was making lifestyle choices he never would have made before. But now, as he sat gripping his daughter's drawing, he felt scared and lost. He needed someone to whom he could turn for guidance. He needed help.

Over his shoulder he heard a voice. The same booming voice he'd heard in the bathroom.

"Maynard you little shit. For once in your life be a man. Face what's happening. Because if you're scared now, just wait for what we've got in store for you."

### Chapter 33

The black 1964 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud purred as it slowly made its way along Whitcombe Fields Road.

Ruth Jackson twitched behind her net curtain as the car pulled into Kieran Tempest's driveway. She squinted her eyes to see who was driving. The classic car waited with the engine running for five minutes. Ruth was distraught with curiosity.

A distinguished looking man in his early seventies wearing a Panama hat got out and walked to the boot. He popped it open and took out three cardboard boxes. One by one he laid them by the front door. He reached across the back seat of the car and removed a large grocery bag. Ruth strained and made out a box of tea bags and a carton of milk protruding from the bag. He carried it to the house, rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a set of keys, with which he opened the door.

Ruth was desperate to know what on earth was happening. If it had been a new neighbour moving in after buying the house, she'd be over in a flash to introduce herself and welcome them to the neighbourhood. But this was different. She knew that Kieran and Linda left under unusual circumstances and she couldn't just storm across the road as she normally would do.

Maybe if I go out to the garden he might introduce himself, thought Ruth.

Ruth went to the kitchen, pulled a half full black bag of rubbish from the bin and took it outside as an excuse to go out to her garden. She lifted the lid of her black wheelie bin and made as much noise as possible, ramming it in with the other black bags of landfill waste.

She looked over to the house, the cardboard boxes were still there. Peering through the leaves of her hydrangea she saw the man step out and pick up a box. Ruth noisily hauled the wheelie bin forward and clattered it along her garden path to make such a commotion that the stranger would have little choice other than to look in her direction. Her plan worked. He glanced at her, smiled, tipped his hat whilst carrying the box with one arm and continued back to the house. She needed to know who he was, or at least his name. The wheelie bin plan worked to a certain degree. At least the man acknowledged her. If he was as true a gentleman as he appeared to be, then his chivalrous side would urge him to help her, if she gave the impression she needed assistance.

The man stepped out of the house again and reached for the second cardboard box. Thinking on her feet, Ruth slipped off her wedding ring and let it drop into wheelie bin.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Ruth, bending forward into the bin as far as she could without falling in.

"For heaven's sake!" she cursed in a louder voice.

The man looked up and watched Ruth clattering around her garden, leaning into her bin and muttering to herself.

"Are you okay over there?" called the man with an accent befitting the clothes he wore and the car he drove.

Ruth looked up and smiled.

"I'm sorry, I appear to have got myself into a fix."

He put the box down and made his way towards Ruth and stopped at her gate.

"Whatever is the matter, can I help?"

"It's my wedding ring, it must have slipped off, and it's fallen to the bottom of the bin. I can't reach it."

"That will never do," said the man removing his hat, "May I help you?"

He handed Ruth his hat and leaned into the bin.

"Yes, I can see it. It's right at the bottom."

As hard as he tried he couldn't reach it.

"Pass me that bamboo cane over there."

Ruth pulled the stick from a flower pot and passed it to the man who used it to reach the ring and hook it out of the bin. He slid it from the cane and let it drop into his palm. He handed it to Ruth and smiled a charming smile. His charisma captivated her.

"Your husband wouldn't be very impressed if you'd lost your beautiful wedding ring."

Ruth blushed. "Oh, I'm not married, I mean I'm not anymore........ my husband passed away several years ago."

"Is that a fact?"

Ruth's blushing face glowed like a beacon as the man offered his hand.

"My name's Gabriel, Gabriel Butler and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

### Chapter 34

"We've got to get out. This house is jinxed, it's haunted," said Sophie pacing up and down the lounge.

Finn shook his head.

"Listen to yourself, you're crazy. We're not going anywhere and that's final."

"But how can you say that? You've seen it for yourself. This place has ghosts, and not just William, there's the man with paper stuck to his face who Rosie saw...... and now, I for one, believe her."

"But what can they do to us? They're spirits,......just echoes of a former life. They can't harm us."

"What if those harmless echoes were connected with the suicides?"

Finn shook his head.

"And hasn't it occurred to you as odd that you were on the train which killed Robert Buxton?"

"Coincidence, nothing more than coincidence!" huffed Finn.

"Listen to yourself..... we must get out. We've young children, let's go before the same thing happens to one of us."

Sophie shuddered with anger at her husband's obstinacy.

She turned to him after taking a few seconds to compose herself and calm down.

"And isn't it odd you've completely changed?"

"I've not changed," grunted Finn, knowing full well to what Sophie was referring.

"You're different. You look different, and you are different. You're nothing like the man I married. Something's happening to you, and if you can't see it, then you're blind."

At that moment, Rosie walked into the lounge hugging a teddy bear.

"Stop shouting."

Sophie looked over to see her daughter standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes.

"I don't want to move from this house. I like it here."

"It's okay, no one's moving, we're all staying here in this house," said Finn as he walked over and hugged Rosie whilst glaring at Sophie.

Sophie knelt to her daughter's level and held her hand. Finn took a step back.

"Remember Amy, your pink bear...... your favourite one?"

Rosie nodded.

"Tell me again, where is she now?"

"I've told you."

"Yes darling, but I'd like you to remind me, I'm not sure if I can remember where she went."

"You do silly," smirked Rosie.

"Just say it again please," asked Sophie. The tone of her voice developed an air of impatience which scared Rosie.

"Okay, I gave her to William, and he took Amy to give to Louisa."

"Is Amy with Louisa now?"

Rosie nodded. "Are you angry with me because I gave her away?"

"No, not at all. It was nice of you to give Amy to William's sister."

Rosie smiled.

"Does William ever tell you where he lives, where he goes when he's not playing with you?"

Rosie shook her head.

"Rosie, I may have heard Jack, would you mind being an angel and go in to see him? Make sure he's okay. I want to talk with daddy for a couple of minutes."

Rosie seemed happier. She skipped out of the lounge and up the stairs.

"So you don't believe these spirits can harm us and they're just echoes of a former life? Well I think they're more than that," said Sophie.

"Why?" asked Finn with a frown.

"Because there's physical interaction. Rosie gave that bear to William so he could give it to his sister. There's no sign of Amy anywhere. I've searched this house from top to bottom. Mum bought her that bear, and she'd be upset if it was lost, that's why I've searched everywhere for it."

"Do you really believe a ghost has taken Rosie's bear?"

"Yes I do, and we should get out. Whatever's here does physical things. And I'm certain it drove those who lived here before us to their deaths."

Finn stood up, shook his head and walked to the kitchen, leaving Sophie in the lounge.

He knew she was right. There was something in the house. They'd both seen the little boy and Rosie had been speaking to him. Finn couldn't disagree. There had to be a connection with what was happening and the suicides. He recalled the vision of the girl in the bathroom. He knew she had a link to William and Louisa.

But Finn couldn't help thinking about the bigger picture. He recalled the voice that told him to 'be a man' and prepare for something big. The words echoed in his mind. 'Face what's happening. Because if you're scared now, just you wait for what I've got in store for you'.

But Finn wasn't afraid. Instead he was intrigued. He knew that he was part of something important.

When he'd seen William in the kitchen he'd been scared. The old Finn Maynard had briefly returned, but now he'd overcome his short-lived anxiety and was ready to embrace whatever was about to happen.

This was why he had no intention of leaving 11a Whitcombe Fields Road.

### Chapter 35

Heather knelt by the grave of Charles Nash. She felt compelled to be there. It had become untidy since the last time she'd seen it and she wanted to make it look nice for him. As far as she was aware the grave received no visitors, and it was a shame to let it become overgrown like the other graves which surrounded his.

There was another reason for being there. She was desperate to speak with Charles. Since the visitation from Elizabeth she'd been expecting a message from the mysterious dead person. Elizabeth suggested that Heather needed something to make communicating with Nash easier. When she was alive, Elizabeth focussed on a silver cross around her neck when communicating with the dead. She'd suggested there was something in Heather's flat which she could use to channel her energies and speak with him. The only thing Heather could think of was the stone head painted by her niece which she named Charlie. Since Charlie had been around strange and eerie things had happened. Heather's nerves juddered as she recalled with clarity the strange dream in the graveyard and how she'd woken up in her bedroom with her feet caked in damp soil. She mentally placed the unnerving memory in a box, closed the lid and continued to pull at the weeds around the edge of the gravestone.

After an hour of tidying and placing potted plants around the grave she sat back and admired her work. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a bottle of mineral water. It wasn't a warm day, but toiling over Nash's plot had caused her to break into a sweat.

She put the bottle back in the bag and then unzipped the main section and removed the stone head.

Heather hoped that by bringing it to Nash's grave the chances of speaking with him would be better, as this was the first place she'd become aware of him and had heard his words bouncing around the churchyard.

She'd been afraid when she'd first heard his voice. But since then, and since the morning she'd heard him at her flat when his booming voice filled her hallway saying they needed to talk, Heather's fears had subsided. Maybe it was speaking with Elizabeth which had calmed her. Elizabeth had certainly prepared Heather for the strange things happening to her.

She needed to know what was happening.

It was late in the afternoon. Heather strolled around the small graveyard, to make sure she was alone and returned to Nash's gravestone. She lifted the head and placed it at the top of the stone. She knew which way Nash lay as Christian burials always faced to the east.

Sitting crossed legged on the grave stone, she placed her hands on top of the stone head and closed her eyes. A gentle breeze blew from the bottom of the hill. Heather heard the bushes rustle, pulled her jacket around her neck and concentrated on what she had come here to do. The sound of the breeze moving the bushes died away as she blocked out the surrounding noises. And then she spoke.

"Charles, it's Heather."

Nothing happened.

"Charles, I'm Heather, I understand you need to speak with me, can you hear me?"

Silence prevailed.

"Charles I understand there's something important you need me to do for you. Please speak with me. I'm ready to talk."

She opened her eyes. A noise from behind, made her jump.

A cat rustled through bushes. She sighed and swore under her breath.

"I'm wasting my bloody time," she muttered and placed the head back into the bag.

"I thought Elizabeth told you not to curse?"

She looked up to see a man standing over her. He had short blond hair with a hint of a curl. He was a few pounds overweight and wore a dark navy blue tailcoat, white leather breeches and black shoes.

He looked at her and smiled.

"Don't worry," he said in a reassuring tone, "I didn't always dress as smart as this, it's what they buried me in."

Heather sat on the gravestone with one hand covering her mouth. She was speechless. Even after speaking with Elizabeth, sitting at the feet of a dead person left her dumbstruck.

Something was putting her at ease. Whether it was due to seeing Elizabeth, she didn't know. But the cold chill of fear she felt when the man stood over her had lifted and now she was immersed in the warmth of love and sincerity.

"Hello, I'm Charles, and you must be Heather."

She nodded and attempted to smile.

"You're real...... you really are real!"

She looked at his feet, lifted her head and took in the full vision of the man in the nineteenth century garb until her eyes met with his.

"You're a real live ghost!"

"Well that's one way of putting it," laughed Nash.

She climbed to her feet and took a step closer.

"Don't do that."

Heather stopped and took a step back.

"Remember what Elizabeth told you. It takes an awful lot of energy for a spirit to become visible and if you get too close you'll burn."

An intense heat emanated from the vision.

"You won't see me for long, but I hope you'll hear from me again. I wanted to stand before you, so you know who I am."

Heather nodded and listened.

"And forget that nonsense about needing a channel to speak with me. The only thing you require is belief. Belief because I'm real."

Heather listened to the crackle of static as he raised his hand.

"Elizabeth was right. You have been chosen for something special. You are here to protect me. You will be my protector."

At last Heather found her voice.

"To protect you? But to protect you from what?"

"From the worst possible evil anyone could imagine."

Heather didn't understand what Nash meant.

"The unfortunate thing is, I can't tell you, but you will learn, you will adapt, you will become strong and you will become clever. You will need to keep your wits about you and you will always look over your shoulder. Learn to trust no one, especially those close to you."

"Those close to me? But why can't you tell me? I don't understand," pleaded Heather.

"Because, it is the way of things."

"And what if I refuse?"

Nash looked at her with sombre expression.

"Heather, you have no choice. The wheels are in motion, they cannot be stopped."

Heather said nothing, her silence urged Nash to continue.

"Your belief in me, and your belief you are strong enough to see this thing through to the end will allow you to succeed. Good will overcome evil."

Heather was going to speak when the cat leapt from the undergrowth. It arched its back and hissed at the apparition. Without warning it launched itself at Nash. The instant it contacted the space occupied by Nash it recoiled and screeched. Cowering, it stood behind Heather before running back into the undergrowth.

Heather turned to Nash, but he had gone. The air crackled with static electricity and smelt of burnt cat fur mixed with the familiar smell of fresh rain she'd noticed when Elizabeth had visited her.

"Charles, where are you? Can you hear me?"

Silence.

"Charles, I have so many more questions, where are you?"

She looked around the graveyard but he had gone. Apart than the lingering odour, there was nothing to suggest Charles Samuel Nash had ever been there.

### Chapter 36

Finn sat in the kitchen alone pouring over Rosie's drawings. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he hoped to find a connection which would give him a clue to what was happening in his world.

Finn opened Rosie's colouring book to the picture of the two red circular patterns she'd drawn on the anniversary of Robert Buxton's death. The evening she said she'd seen the man with paper stuck to his face.

He also had the detailed picture she'd drawn under the guidance of William. Both pictures had the same red circular patterns, which matched his ring, but he was looking for something else. He was certain there must be something else to explain the strange things that had been happening in his house.

William and his sister were dead because of what was depicted in the picture William helped her draw. William had described the circumstances of his death.

He pushed back his chair and considered what Ruth Jackson told Sophie about those who'd previously lived in his house. Moreover he thought of those who'd died who'd lived here.

Before Kieran upped sticks and left with Linda, he'd told Finn that it would be best to keep away from Henry Buxton. But maybe a visit to Buxton would find a missing link, and help Finn work out what was happening.

Finn strolled into the lounge and looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn't help checking out the 'new Finn' whenever he passed one. He'd never been a vain person, but since he'd been working out at the gym and grown his hair, he liked the appearance of the person he'd become. He took a step closer and ran his finger along the scar on his cheek. It had healed well, and he thought it added to his 'new look'.

Sophie and the children were out. He went back to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and returned to the lounge. From the window he looked at the mysterious hawthorn. The only thing that ever thrived in his front garden. He took a swig of beer and stared at the tree.

Finn became struck by a thought. He returned to the kitchen and grabbed Rosie's drawing with the children in the well. He took the picture to the lounge and compared her drawing of the tree to the hawthorn outside the window. From the lounge it was clear how precise her sketch was. Although childlike, the picture captured its detail. The trunk of the tree split into two sections eighteen inches from the ground. The section veering to the left split in two and grew in separate directions. She'd included a few of the major lower branches before colouring the foliage which covered the rest of the tree's skeleton. He'd not noticed the level of detail until today. William must have told her how to draw it. Rosie's picture gave the impression that the well was near the tree. Finn considered the significance of the tree and its relationship to the well. One of the major branches in her picture pointed towards the well. He could see what looked like the same branch on the tree in the garden which pointed towards the house, toward the kitchen.

No! thought Finn.

He turned around and paced to the kitchen counting his steps as he walked. Nineteen paces from the window of the lounge to the kitchen table. Plus another three from the tree to the wall of the house, he estimated that the tree must be twenty two paces from the kitchen. He looked at Rosie's drawing and using the stick-like sketches of the two children in the well to judge an idea of scale, he considered twenty two paces to be a likely distance from the tree to the well.

Finn stamped his foot on the kitchen floor and listened. He wasn't sure what he was listening for, but he stamped again. He dragged the kitchen table to one side and continued to stamp his feet where the table had been.

Finn was certain that the well was beneath the kitchen. He knelt down, bent forward and put his ear to the ground.

Finn sat up and paused for reflection.

Am I going mad?

He dragged the table back and sat down.

He recalled what Rosie said about William. He only ever appeared in the kitchen. He shook his head and took another gulp of beer.

He looked at the clock. Sophie wouldn't be back for at least another hour.

"Time to pay a visit to Mr. Buxton," said Finn to himself before finishing the last swig of beer.

Henry Buxton heard a sharp rap at his door, pulled back the net curtain and saw Finn at the door.

Finn rapped again. He turned his head to his left and spotted Henry behind the net curtain.

Buxton apprehensively made his way along the hall and opened up.

"Can I help you?" asked Henry hiding behind the door.

Finn didn't know what to say. He couldn't launch into the story of being on the train which ended Henry's father's life, but essentially that was his reason for being there.

"Hello Mr. Buxton, I expect you know who I am. My name is Finn Maynard and I bought your father's house from you."

"I know who you are. What do you want?" replied Henry in a standoffish tone.

"Do you mind if I come in? I've something I wish to ask."

"I'm busy at the moment, can you call back later?"

"I'd prefer to speak with you now," said Finn. His tone carried an air of urgency which Henry found difficult to ignore.

Henry sighed, which made it obvious he wanted nothing to do with Finn.

"Please Mr. Buxton, I promise I'll be quick."

Henry clung to the door. Eventually he nodded and Finn entered the house.

He followed Henry into the house and Henry directed him to the dining room.

They sat facing each other across a wooden dinner table. Finn looked around the room. The layout was different to his house. Henry's kitchen overlooked the front of the house and his lounge was at the rear.

Henry said nothing. An air of tension filled the room which Finn found unnerving.

"I'd like to ask about your father."

Henry didn't speak. He stared back at Finn with empty eyes.

"I understand this may make you uncomfortable Mr. Buxton, but I need to find a few things out."

Henry nodded.

Finn adjusted his sleeve and squirmed in his chair.

"I'm aware of how your father died,........ I was on the train which....... " his voice trailed off, not knowing how he should complete the sentence.

Henry looked expressionless, and Finn continued.

"I was on the train which hit your father."

"The train didn't hit my father, he threw himself in front of it."

"I'm sorry," said Finn. He nodded and found the whole thing more difficult than he expected.

"I'm the one who found your father's head........ and now........ and now, I live in his house."

"It's your house now," said Henry trying hard not to show emotion.

It should have come as a shock to Henry when Finn told him he'd been on the train which killed his father, even more so that he'd been the one who discovered Robert Buxton's head. But after hearing what Finn told him he didn't appear surprised.

Henry considered the others who'd lived at 11a who had taken their lives and more importantly, the connections between them.

Robert Buxton sold his car to David Gosling. David killed himself when he lived at 11a before Robert. More importantly, Gosling used the car he'd bought from Buxton to commit suicide. He'd died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

Before Gosling lived at 11a, it had belonged to Shaun and Janet Morrison who'd both died after Shaun drove their car into Bitterwell Lake. Gosling was a member of the police diving team searching the lake and had been the one to find their bodies in the car.

Henry shuddered at the thought of Finn's connection to his father's suicide and became overcome with sadness.

"What is it you want to talk about?" asked Henry.

Finn wriggled in the chair again and then continued.

"Do you have any idea why your father took his life?"

Henry shook his head.

"Do you know whether he was depressed, or anxious about anything?"

Henry stood up.

"My father and I spoke little towards the end..... we grew apart, even though we lived so close to each other."

Finn looked at the table and ran his finger over the ring.

"I wanted to speak to you because odd things are happening in the house and I wondered whether your father ever mentioned anything to you."

"I don't believe so, what odd things?"

Finn shuffled awkwardly.

"We've seen things. Myself, my wife and our daughter. We've seen ghosts."

"Ghosts?" snorted Henry.

Finn nodded.

"What kind of ghosts?"

Finn told him about William and Rosie's pictures.

"And there's something else," added Finn, "on the anniversary of your father's death he visited my daughter."

Henry became animated.

"That's enough. I've told you I don't know why my father killed himself, and now I want you to leave," said Henry standing up.

"Please, Mr. Buxton, I haven't finished."

Finn saw anger in Henry's face, but was determined to continue.

"My daughter said a man came to her as she drew in the kitchen. She said he had paper stuck to his face. It turns out she had described a man with a paper bag over his head."

Finn paused and looked at Henry who was rooted to the spot.

"Don't forget, I saw your father when he died and I know he had a bag over his head when he jumped in front of the train."

"Did 'this ghost' of my father speak to your daughter?"

Finn nodded.

"She didn't understand what he was saying, because of the bag....... But they drew a picture together."

Henry looked at him with his head to one side.

"What kind of picture?"

"It was more patterns than a picture, circular patterns. This seems to be a theme with the ghosts who visit our house."

Henry was silent and in deep thought. The colour drained from his face. He looked at Finn nervously.

"Patterns you say?"

Finn nodded.

"Wait there."

Finn watched Henry leave the room. He could hear him in the dining room shuffling and opening drawers. He returned with a box file which he dropped on the table with a thud.

"Take a look," said Henry stepping back.

Finn opened the box and saw it was full of A4 paper.

"What's this?"

"I hope you can tell me."

Finn took a handful of sheets and placed them on the table. He looked at the patterns. Each one was like another although they were all slightly different.

"Where did you get these?"

"They were stuck to the walls and ceiling of my father's study."

"His study?"

"The small room upstairs in your house."

"That's my son's bedroom," said Finn under his breath.

Henry disappeared again and left Finn to search through the box of paper. He returned with an envelope.

"And there's this," said Henry handing the envelope to Finn.

"What is it?"

"He had it on him when he killed himself."

"Is it a note?"

"Just open it."

Finn opened the envelope, pulled out three sheets of paper and laid them on the table. His pulse quickened, and he perspired as he recognised the patterns. They were the same as Rosie drew under the guidance of both William and Robert Buxton's ghosts. He saw the third sheet was blank. The two patterns had a tick alongside.

Henry walked to the window with his back to Finn. Finn compared the two patterns Robert Buxton had drawn to the two on his ring.

The same thought Finn.

"Do you mind if I borrow these?" asked Finn waving the three sheets from the envelope in his hand.

Henry shrugged his shoulders with a look of indifference.

"Have them, and the box file. They're of no use to me."

He watched Finn hold the sheets with the patterns in one hand and the blank sheet in the other. His eyes darted from one sheet to the other. He became absorbed by them.

"Do they mean something?" asked Henry.

Finn didn't answer. Robert Buxton's drawings made something stir within. Even though they were same as the patterns on the ring, and to his daughter's drawings, holding the versions drawn by Henry's father awoke something deep inside. Something so familiar, yet so very distant.

He placed the two sheets with the patterns on the table to one side and stared at the blank page.

He lay it on the table and flattened it with his hand. The blank sheet called to him, it summoned him to use his mind's eye and fill in the blank. He looked at the sheet and a new pattern developed before his eyes. A swirling mass of colour faded in from nowhere. There different shades and hues spinning and interacting with each other. It was like looking upon the eye of a hurricane. The colours gyrated and danced with one another until the different shades fused together and created the most vibrant red Finn had ever seen. It was so bright he covered his eyes with the back of his hand. He sensed warmth which radiated from the pattern. The warmth intensified into a heat that forced him to move away from the paper.

Henry watched Finn cover his eyes and screw up his face as if he was too close to a fire.

"Can you see it?" said Finn turning his head away from the paper.

Henry looked at the paper.

"Can I see what?"

Finn didn't answer. He became too engrossed with what was happening.

Wisps of grey smoke spiralled up from the corner of the paper just before the sheet ignited in front of his eyes.

"What the fuck?" snapped Finn jumping back in shock, whilst watching the paper crumple and burn on the table. A blue flame enveloped it turning it to smouldering ash.

Henry watched with a look of apathy.

"I think it's time you left," said Henry, who had been unaffected by what Finn had just seen.

"But what just happened?" demanded Finn.

"Nothing happened, other than you acting like a mad man which is why it's time for you to leave. Take what you need and go."

Finn looked back to the table and to the third sheet of paper. It was intact. No burn marks, no patterns, not a single thing other than the crease from where it had been folded and placed in Robert Buxton's envelope.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

"Please Mr. Maynard, take these papers and leave."

Finn stood up and stared at the paper in front of him.

"This is all I need," he said picking up the mysterious blank sheet. He folded it and placed it in his pocket.

Finn left Henry's house leaving paper tumbling from the box file and strewn across the floor.

Henry cursed and bent forward to scoop up the hundreds of sheets of paper. He placed them on the table and squared them up so they would fit back into the box file. He laid his hand on the table where the third sheet had been and quickly recoiled as a pain shot through the palm of his hand.

"Yowch!" exclaimed Henry, rubbing his hand with his finger. The table was hot. He shook his head, not being able to comprehend what happened. The varnish on the table was sticky as if something scalding had been placed on it.

He went to the kitchen and ran cold water over his hand. After the pain subsided he returned to the table.

"Shit! The table's ruined," he muttered whilst looking at the varnish which had bubbled. Then, he noticed something in the wood. He took his reading glasses from his pocket and bent forward to inspect it.

"How on earth did that get there?"

He moved closer and couldn't believe what he was looking at.

In front of him, embossed into the wood where the varnish had bubbled, was a faint circular pattern, just like the patterns drawn by his father. He grabbed the two sheets his father had with him on the day he'd died and compared them with the one in the wood. They were similar, but not the same.

Again, he looked at the two sheets on which his father had drawn the patterns, each with a tick below. He glanced back to what was etched into the table.

And then he saw it.

Beneath the imprinted pattern burnt into the table was a tiny scratch. Henry looked again. But it wasn't just a scratch, it was something else. He adjusted his glasses to get a better view and as he did he followed it with the nail on his forefinger.

It took a few seconds to sink in before he realised what it was.

It was a tick. Beneath the circular pattern was a tick.

"What the.....?" muttered Henry Buxton as he huffed air through his cheeks.

### Chapter 37

Gabriel Butler settled into what had been Kieran Tempest's favourite chair. He'd turned it so it faced the window in the lounge allowing him a perfect view of 11a, the house his 'short lived' company had built thirty years earlier.

With his feet resting on Linda's footstall, a copy of George Eliot's Middlemarch in one hand and a Carlito Fuente cigar in the other he waited for the show to begin.

It could happen today, tomorrow, or in the next six months. Gabriel Butler was a patient man, who this time had waited over seventy years for what was going to happen. Waiting a little longer wouldn't hurt.

And then the fireworks would really begin.

### Chapter 38

Late November

"The taxi will be at your place by ten am, make sure you're ready," said Chloe Grant.

Ian Tomlinson asked Chloe to book a taxi to collect Finn and take him to the airport. Finn was leaving for Washington for a three day visit to close the Goldman deal he'd been negotiating.

"Remind me Chloe, what time's the flight?"

"Jeepers Finn, I've told you. You're boarding the plane at four thirty this afternoon."

"Yeah, sure, sorry I forgot."

Since the episode at Henry Buxton's house, Finn had become preoccupied by the blank sheet. He'd been staring at it, willing the strange colours to return like at Henry's.

He put down his phone and checked the time. It was just past nine, just under an hour until the taxi was due.

Sophie was away. She'd decided to stay at her parents with the children whilst Finn was in America as she didn't want to be alone in the house at night because of the strange things that had happened. She knew it would be hard work looking after both children on her own for three days and appreciated her parents helping out with childcare. Finn wasn't much use these days, but at least when he was around he did a few menial tasks.

Finn wandered around the house killing time and waited for the taxi.

He sat at the table in the kitchen and pulled out the blank sheet of paper, placed it flat on the table and stared at it. He knew it shouldn't be blank and there should be a pattern on it, like the two on his ring. Now he understood what Robert Buxton had been determined to achieve. Buxton knew of the two patterns on Finn's ring and sketched them on separate sheets of A4, but he'd not been able to come up with a third pattern.

Finn imagined Robert Buxton labouring over hundreds of sheets of paper until he'd been driven mad with frustration trying to work out the two patterns. He'd cracked after many attempts. He imagined Buxton staring at the third sheet with no idea what the third pattern should be. Finn also became obsessed with the patterns without understanding their meaning.

Buxton had done the hard work of figuring the first two patterns. He knew this because of the drawings his daughter had done which matched Robert Buxton's, and they also matched the face of his ring. Finn had no idea of the pattern on the third sheet. He didn't stop to question why there should be a third pattern, he instinctively knew that there was one.

Finn jumped up, strolled to the printer in the lounge, grabbed a handful of A4 paper and took them back to the kitchen. He pulled a red pen from his jacket pocket and worked on the third pattern. He was getting nowhere fast. Every attempt at a pattern was wrong. He wrote an 'X' under each failed attempted and dropped it to the floor. He became lost in what he was doing and hadn't noticed the time which ticked closer to ten.

Finn was a great freehand artist, but better at creating images using the computer. He grabbed his laptop from the hall which lay next to his suitcase ready for the trip to the States. He plugged it into the mains in the lounge and fired it up. He loaded Corel Painter, the software he used to create freehand art, and stared at a blank document. With his finger hovering over the mouse he became overcome by the same feeling he'd experienced when he had been at Henry's. But this time it was different. He didn't see an image appear in front of him, this time he felt the image stirring from within.

He clicked 'red' from the digital pallet and selected a fine nib pen and waited.

Finn was right handed. He couldn't write, draw or barely hold a pen in his left hand, but something repeatedly made a nerve twitch in the middle finger of his left hand. He moved closer to the computer screen and watched a single red pixel appear on the top right corner of the blank document. A minute later another pixel appeared, and this time it was in the middle of the screen. A few seconds later another appeared at the bottom.

What's happening? thought Finn as pixel after pixel appeared on the screen.

He was so engrossed with what was happening he hadn't noticed it was his finger that was tapping the mouse and making each pixel appear one by one. His middle finger on his left hand, the one on which he wore the ring, gently nudged and clicked the mouse making each pixel materialise on the screen.

It was almost ten o'clock, Finn was in a stupor and became fixated by the screen. Each time a new pixel appeared he became lured further into a trance like state.

Just after ten a taxi beeped its horn, but Finn didn't hear. He became more and more engrossed as a pattern emerged on the screen.

The impatient taxi driver beeped again and strained his neck to look out of the passenger window to see if anyone came to the door. He cursed, got out and walked along the garden path, looking at the barren garden as he made his way to the front door.

Angrily, he rapped on the door and rang the bell.

Finn continued to become entranced by what materialised in front of him. His eyes were almost shut and were tiny slits, causing his vision to blur. He couldn't hear the taxi driver banging on the door and calling through the letter box.

After five minutes the driver gave up and sped away.

Subconsciously Finn continued to tap away with his finger on the mouse and the image continued to develop. He was becoming tired and lethargic and his head dropped. He rubbed his forehead with his right hand as he carried on clicking the mouse with his left. He rested his head on his right hand and drifted into a semiconscious state as his middle left finger clicked away creating the random image on the screen.

An hour had past and Finn was in the same position adding pixel after pixel to the image unfolding before him. His eyes were closed and he rocked back and forth. The hypnotic lull of his rocking lured him into a light sleep in which a strange and vivid dream manifested in his subconscious.

\--------------------------

He was upon a black horse galloping through the countryside on a cold day. He could feel the rush of frosty air across his face as the steed continued to race through fields and lanes. He was not alone. Behind him were other riders dressed to keep warm against the winter morning. The sun rose behind them and the western sky showed the last of the night stars. Venus was ahead of the sun in the east and shone like a beacon.

The excited dogs were somewhere in the distance. He followed the baying of the hounds.

Finn and the riders passed a small building in a rocky field. He glanced at it as he sped past. The building was familiar. He continued toward the hounds.

Finn and the riders slowed their horses when they had reached the dogs yapping and howling in a canine dither.

"What are your intentions?" asked one rider who was an ugly short man with a menacing tattoo across his face.

"We must go back, we've missed something," replied Finn in a voice which did not belong to him.

The ugly man with the tattoo climbed from his horse and teased the dogs with a section of torn cloth. The dogs became excited and jumped up at the man.

"Get back on your horse Mr. Morris and follow me," shouted Finn and made his way back towards the east.

Morris and the other riders followed Finn, and the dogs followed the riders.

Five minutes later Finn saw the building as he neared the top of a small hill. He slowed down and waved to the riders to do the same. The dogs charged past Finn and Morris who cautiously made their way to the stone building.

"I think you've found her," said Mr. Morris.

The riders trotted their horses to the building and dismounted.

Finn watched Morris light a torch and make his way to the building, followed by the other men.

Finn stood alongside his horse and lit a briar pipe.

"She's in here, tell Drake we've found her," shouted Morris.

Finn snuffed out his pipe, placed it in his pocket and made his way to the building. He stopped outside, thanked Mr. Morris and waited a few seconds before stepping into the building.

His eyes became accustomed to the dimness of the small building when he heard a strange sound in the corner. The sound increased, it was a niggling repetitive tune that wouldn't go away. The building faded and was replaced by a red pattern on a glaring white background. Finn rubbed his face and gazed at the laptop.

\--------------------------

He came out of the strange dream, blinked his eyes and gawped at the screen.

"Did I do that?"

He pushed back the chair, stood up and glared at the computer.

"No, no no!" he shouted.

He placed the cursor beneath the red circular pattern and put a cross below it, then slammed the lid.

The niggling tune started again. He looked at his phone next to the computer and saw he had missed a call. Finn grabbed the phone and threw it across the room.

He fell to the settee, curled up in a ball and thought of the dream. He looked at the ring and rubbed it with his finger. Thoughts of his journey to the States eluded him. He hadn't heard the taxi driver knocking and he'd missed a call from Tomlinson's secretary.

She'd received a call from the taxi company who'd told her that their driver wasn't able to collect Finn and she was worried about him.

Finn switched his attention to the pattern which should have been on the blank sheet of paper found on Robert Buxton when he'd jumped in front of the train.

He stood up, lurched back to the laptop and lifted the lid. He looked at the pattern and hit delete.

And then it started again.

He became lured by the blank document and subconsciously clicked one pixel at a time. A new image appeared on the screen and just as before, he became sleepy.

The dream he'd had before repeated from the start. Just as before, he chased through the countryside with the sound of the howling dogs ahead of him. Behind him were Mr. Morris and his disparate gang endeavouring to keep up. He ended up at the same small stone building in the field to be advised by Morris that inside was the woman for whom he'd been searching.

Finn entered, and this time the dream didn't abruptly end.

\--------------------------

In the corner sat a young woman in her early twenties. She was tired and scared. Finn stepped closer while Morris stood behind holding a burning torch.

Finn took a breath and spoke in a voice which sounded familiar.

"Hello Alice, I've been looking for you........what have you done with my children?"

The trembling girl didn't speak. Finn knelt beside her and spoke again.

"Alice, I'd really like to know what you've done with my children. Please tell me where they are."

"They're not your children," replied the young woman.

Finn moved closer and put his mouth to her ear.

"This will be my final time of asking. Think carefully before you answer. What have you done with my children?"

"I won't tell you. They're somewhere you'll never know. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I know your secret and I know you're not their father."

"You know nothing!" shouted Finn.

"I know enough to make sure you never see those children again."

"Very well," said Finn. His voice became calm as he stood over her.

Finn noticed the girl looking at the ring on his finger. He had an urge to kill her, but didn't know why. He was about to order Mr. Morris to deal with her when a notion occurred to him.

He turned back to the girl who covered her face with her hand expecting him to hit her.

"Why are you interested in this ring? Tell me what you know about it?"

The woman looked at him without speaking.

Finn repeated the question in calm, almost reassuring voice.

"Tell me what you know about this ring?" he said whilst watching the rubies sparkle in the light of Mr. Morris' flaming torch.

"Why are you even asking?"

"Because I need you to tell me. I want to hear it from you."

"It's your obsession. Don't worry, I've worked it out. I know why you took William and Louisa after their mother died after giving birth. I know why you want them and that's why I'm making sure you'll never see them again."

"Tell me about my obsession, why do I want the two children so badly?"

"But it's not only them you want is it? Even if you get your hands on them, your search still isn't over."

Finn looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Why not? Why is my search not over?"

"Don't play games with me Alexander. Either let me go, or kill me...... the choice is yours."

Finn looked at her.

"Alexander? Why do you call me Alexander?"

Morris looked with concern.

"Is something the matter?"

Finn ignored Morris.

"Don't play games with me. You're an evil man. Either kill me or let me go," said the girl in a brave voice.

"She's not going to talk" said Finn. "Mr. Morris, do your worst."

Finn stepped out of the building to the sounds of muffled screams as Joseph Morris kicked the defenceless but brave young girl.

\--------------------------

He awoke from the dream to the sound of Sophie calling his name. The door wouldn't open because Finn deadlocked it the night before.

"Finn, Finn can you hear me? Are you in there?"

Her voice became clearer as she bellowed through the letter box.

"Finn, are you okay?"

He was confused. He glanced at the clock on his laptop and couldn't believe the time.

Finn rubbed his eyes, looked at the laptop and saw something amazing. A pattern, like the ones on his ring and that Rosie had drawn. It was also very much like the drawings that Henry Buxton had shown him in his house.

Although similar, it was so very different. He had a feeling that the image staring back had something to do with the 'new' Finn Maynard, and the strange things happening in his house.

Sophie called his name, but it didn't register. He was lost in his own world and continued to stare at the screen. He knew this was what drove Robert Buxton to take his life. This was the third pattern that Buxton had been trying to draw. The pattern that caused him to lose his mind. Now Finn had it. It belonged to him. Beneath the pattern he drew a red tick, saved the file and closed the lid.

Sophie was beside herself with worry. Ian Tomlinson had phoned and told her that Finn hadn't answered the door when the taxi driver had called. Tomlinson had called several times but Finn hadn't answered. He had called Sophie a quarter of an hour ago, and Sophie had rushed round to check he was okay.

Through the letter box she could see his suitcase in the hallway so assumed he must be in the house. She screamed his name as loud as she could.

Finn looked up. Her shrill voice registered with him.

"Not now bitch," he whispered to himself.

He crawled along the floor, popped his head around the lounge door and looked along the hall.

His eyes met with hers and he ducked back into the lounge.

"Finn, what's happening? Why're you still here?"

He sat on the floor in the lounge with his back against the wall. She'd asked a good question. Why was he still here? He had no idea. He'd no recollection of the taxi driver and couldn't remember what had happened that morning. He could vaguely recall the dream, and the pattern on the laptop had become a distant memory.

He knew something important had just happened, but couldn't remember what.

"Finn, what are you doing in there?"

One thing of which he was sure, his infuriating wife had nothing to do with whatever was happening to him.

The pattern on his laptop popped back into his mind's eye.

He crawled back to his computer and lifted the lid. The thing whirred back into life showing the red pattern he'd just subconsciously finished drawing.

As soon as he saw it his memory of the dream became clear. He felt strong and powerful. His moment of insecurity had passed.

"Leave me alone bitch," shouted Finn along the hall.

Sophie heard him holler and was shocked by the words he'd yelled.

"Finn, open the door, please speak to me."

"Fuck off!"

"Finn...... please come to the door."

"Which bits of 'fuck' and 'off' don't you understand?" snarled Finn.

Sophie cried. She didn't understand what had happened to the man she loved.

"Why are you still here?" bellowed Finn.

"Because I love you and I'm worried about you."

'Because I love you and I'm worried about you' spun around his mind.

For a moment he felt vulnerable. His love for Sophie returned. He was going to unlock it when he heard a voice. The same voice he'd heard coming from himself when he'd seen the vision of Alice Donaldson in his bathroom and it was the voice he'd spoken in the dream.

'Maynard you little shit. Step back from the door, stay focussed. This is too important to fuck up.'

Sophie waited outside and Finn turned the lock. The door opened, and he looked her in the eye.

The voice had brought the 'new Finn' back after his brief lapse.

He looked at Sophie, but didn't see the woman he used to love. Instead he saw a parasite. He saw a scrounger. To him she was nothing but a freeloader who had been living off his hard earned money. She didn't work, she stayed home looking after the sorry excuses she had for children. She didn't do anything of benefit to him.

"I'll tell you this once. Fuck off. Get away from my house. I don't want you here."

Sophie was beside herself and couldn't understand what was happening.

"What have I done to upset you so much?" she asked through her tears.

"You're pathetic," said Finn shaking his head.

"But what's happening to you Finn? I don't understand."

"Forget about Finn, he's gone. He's dead."

She stopped crying, swallowed hard and looked at him.

"So you're telling me you're not Finn. You're not Finn Maynard, the man I married and have two wonderful children with?"

"Shut up and go."

She knew she was getting nowhere. He was having some kind of breakdown and she worried he would become violent.

Sophie turned around to leave, then stopped, turned back and asked him a question.

"If you're not Finn, then tell me who the hell you are?"

He looked at her with an air of puzzlement. She'd floored him.

He thought of the dream. He recalled chasing through the countryside on horseback and the young woman in the stone farm building who spoke to him of his children. He remembered what she'd said. She told him 'They're not your children'.

It had made little sense, but one thing was beginning to connect with him, which was the person he'd been in the dream. It was like nothing before. In the dream he'd been unstoppable and untouchable. He was wealthy, important, and a man who had great influence over others. He'd felt strong and confident until he'd confronted the young woman Alice. There was something about her, something she said that he didn't understand. It was about the ring. She knew why the ring was important. She'd said the ring was his obsession and she'd also talked about the children, William and Louisa, and that he'd taken them from their mother. She'd referred to him as Alexander. Finn shut his eyes and gripped the door.

Alexander.... Alexander.... Alexander, he thought as the name circled his mind. And then it came to him.

"I said, if you're not Finn, tell me who you are?" repeated Sophie with her hands on her hips and a look of defiance in her eye.

"Who am I?" asked Finn. "You really don't know me do you?"

"No, right now, I can honestly say I've no idea who you are."

"My name is Alexander. Alexander Drake. I'm busy, so fuck off and leave me alone."

She was about to speak, but she knew it was pointless.

"I said fu......," said Finn, but was interrupted by Sophie.

"Don't worry Finn, or Alexander, or whoever the hell you're supposed to be. I'm leaving you. You won't be seeing me again."

He smirked and slammed the door.

Gabriel Butler watched and grinned from the porch of Kieran Tempest's house.

"Welcome back Alexander my friend. It's been a long long time."

### Chapter 39

He still found it hard to believe. Even months after Gabriel Butler had transferred over one and a three quarter million pounds to his account, Kieran Tempest would spend hours staring at his bank balance, which was just over one and a quarter million, as the Tempest's had just purchased a five-bedroom house at a shade under half a million pounds.

"It's ready sir, it's yours to drive away."

Kieran looked up. He'd been contemplating his newly found wealth and became lost in his own little world.

"I'm sorry, pardon?" said Kieran.

"Your new car, it's on the forecourt and here're the keys, it's ready to go sir," repeated the salesman.

Kieran took the keys, thanked him and followed the salesman to the forecourt where the red Porsche 911 Carrera was waiting for him.

The salesman's voice faded into the distance as Kieran walked around the car. He was stunned by the beauty of the thing as it reflected the afternoon sun.

It wasn't for him, it was an early birthday present for Linda. He knew she'd love the car, but he knew she'd love something else about it even more. The registration plate. HE11 BDG. Both he and his wife were huge Beatles fans. They'd first met at a Beatles convention in Liverpool thirty years earlier. Their favourite Beatles song was Hey Bulldog, which was why he'd chosen the personalised number plate for her new car. HE11 BDG was the closest he could find to Hey Bulldog. He knew she'd love it.

After over twenty years of patiently waiting and reporting the comings and goings of the strange house in Whitcombe Fields Road to Gabriel Butler, Kieran had become a rich man. He'd walked away from his job and was living a life of leisure.

He felt no guilt over how he'd earned the money and he'd never believed the eccentric billionaire's prediction of what would happen.

Even though Butler's prophesy of the spate of suicides had turned out to be true, Tempest found it hard to believe the old man when he'd told him of the consequences of Kieran's involvement. The event the crazy old man described seemed too 'earth shattering' to happen. But Tempest was taking no chances, and he'd shipped out as soon as he could. The sight of the raven perched in the garden of 11a, the day he'd pulled away in the hired transit van, had been the sign that hinted that maybe everything Butler had predicted would happen.

### Chapter 40

Sophie had been crying for the past two days. Her daughter didn't understand why mummy was so upset and why daddy wasn't looking after things.

Grace put her arms around Sophie. She had been trying to console her daughter since yesterday, but there seemed nothing she could do to end her flood of tears. Tending to Jack was something which distracted her from what was happening.

"Wait until I get my hands on that bastard," cursed Sophie's father. He'd never seen his daughter so upset.

Grace threw him a look.

"Not now John."

Grace tried to comprehend what was going on, but Sophie's description of what happened between her and Finn on their doorstep was conveyed through a mass of unstoppable tears and Grace wasn't sure what had happened between them.

Finn was suffering a mental breakdown, and was showing signs of having a dual personality. He needed professional help.

At last Sophie's tears subsided. Her face was red and puffy. Grace handed her a glass of water.

"Are you ready to talk?" asked Grace.

Sophie put down the glass, wiped her eyes and nodded.

Over an hour later she'd told her mother of how Finn had changed in such a short space of time. She'd described how almost overnight he'd transformed from the fun loving father and husband dedicated to nothing else but his family into a self-centred, money oriented bully, who had no time for anyone other than himself. She explained what had happened when she'd called at their house after receiving the call from Tomlinson's secretary.

"It all seemed to have begun around the time he cut himself," said Sophie.

"Did you ever find out what happened?"

Sophie shook her head.

"He's changed so quickly. He decided not to get his hair cut, and I've never seen it grow so fast. It seems like every day it grows another quarter of an inch. I mean it mum, he's changing not just mentally, but also physically. It's like he's a different person."

Grace understood what she meant. She'd seen him a few days earlier and hardly recognised him.

"You're welcome to stay with us until this is over."

Sophie hadn't mentioned the other things that had been happening in her house. She'd told her parents nothing of the visits from William, or the ghost of Robert Buxton and Rosie's strange drawings. She'd not wanted to worry them and now didn't seem the best time to mention it. Her mother had experienced enough supernatural nonsense with great grandmother Elizabeth, so the last thing she wanted her mother to know was that Rosie spoke with the dead, like Elizabeth had done.

"So, Finn acted differently after he'd cut his face" asked her father.

Sophie sat back and thought. She gazed at the ceiling and cast her mind back.

"No, it was before then. It was about the time he wore that awful ring."

"You mean the one that looks like it fell out of a Christmas cracker?" added John.

Sophie nodded.

"I wish it was from a cracker, I would have thrown it out. Do you know that thing is solid gold, 18 carat and it's covered in tiny rubies?"

John blew air through his cheeks.

"Wow, no I didn't. Where did he get it?"

Sophie told them the story of how he'd got it after Jack was born. John listened as she told him about the mystery antique shop.

"I'm not suggesting Finn's been lying to you Sophie, but your mother and I have lived around here for over forty years and I can assure you there has never been an antique shop on the high street."

Sophie shrugged her shoulders and wiped her eyes.

"I can only tell you what he told me. He seemed sincere at the time." She took another sip of water and continued. "He didn't wear it until recently, and I'm certain he changed the evening he put it on. He's not taken it off since."

Grace hugged her again.

"Mum, dad....... what am I going to do? I love Finn, and I want the man I married to come back. I want us to be happy like we were before."

"Perhaps he's having a midlife crisis?" suggested John, who was trying to be helpful. Grace shot him another glance and John lowered his head.

"I wish it was as simple as that dad. Shall I tell you what I think?" said Sophie looking to her mother, and then to her father.

"I think he's haunted."

Sophie hadn't wanted to bother her parents with the odd things that happened in her home, and what she'd said just slipped out.

"Haunted? By what?" blurted her father.

"By...... by, I don't know," stuttered Sophie. She wiped her eyes and continued.

"It's like something is haunting him from the inside. A spirit or something from the past. Oh, I'm not sure what I'm saying. All I know is that the person I saw on my doorstep yesterday wasn't my husband."

John stood up and turned to Sophie.

"I think the best thing you can do right now is give him some space. Let him work through whatever is happening. If it carries on for more than a few days you should seek professional medical advice. If he becomes violent towards you, make sure you involve the police. Don't deal with it on your own. Remember, we're here to help you."

She reached for her father's hand and squeezed it.

"I know dad, thank you. I appreciate it, I really do."

John's intentions had been good. But it would take more than a loving family to help Finn Maynard through what was about to happen to him.

### Chapter 41

1st December

Ruth Jackson smiled at Gabriel Butler as he crossed the road from Kieran's old house. She did a double take when he opened Finn Maynard's garden gate and strolled up to his front door.

Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

Do these two know each other? she thought as she peered from behind her hydrangea.

Ruth ducked down when she heard Butler rapping on Finn's door.

She'd not seen the confrontation Sophie had had with her husband the other day and knew nothing of what happened when Finn told his wife he was Alexander Drake.

It took several attempts at rousing Finn before the door opened.

"Yes!" said Finn in an abrupt tone.

"Hello Finn, my name is Gabriel Butler, I've just moved in across the road and I need to make your acquaintance."

Finn viewed him with suspicion and didn't speak.

Butler offered his hand, but Finn declined to shake it.

"I see you have the ring. It's beautiful don't you think?"

Finn raised his hand and looked at it.

"What do you know about it?" asked Finn warily.

"There's a lot of things I know about what's been happening to you Mr. Maynard, or should I say Mr. Drake?"

"Carry on," replied Finn, wanting to know more.

"Would you be kind enough to invite me in? We have a lot to discuss."

He hesitated, but warmed to Butler's smile. Something about the man seemed familiar and Finn sensed he was someone he should trust, someone who was on his side.

Butler looked toward the sky, shielded his eyes against the sun and looked up at the raven which had appeared and circled the rooftops.

"Ah, I see our friend is in town," said Butler motioning towards the bird.

Finn took a few steps forward, stood alongside Butler on the garden path and watched the huge black bird as it soared out of view.

"It's beautiful," said Finn.

After a few seconds of awkward silence Finn invited Butler in.

Ruth Jackson popped her head up from behind the leafy hydrangea just as Finn's door closed.

She'd heard their conversation and was bursting with curiosity. She was desperate to tell someone what she had just witnessed, but knew she should keep this to herself. She was dying to know what was happening in her road.

Who was this stranger with the Rolls Royce and why had he moved into Tempest's house? He seemed to know Finn, but it was obvious that Finn wasn't sure who Gabriel Butler was. And why on earth would he refer to Finn as Mr. Drake? Was Finn Maynard hiding something?

Ruth Jackson was damn sure she would make it her business to find out.

### Chapter 42

Heather was frustrated. It had been over a week since she'd seen and spoken with Charles Nash in the graveyard of St Michael on the Mount Without. Nash told her the same thing her great grandmother had said, that she'd been chosen for something big. Nash said that she was his protector and he needed protection from the worst possible evil imaginable and what was going to happen had begun. He said the wheels were in motion and nothing could stop them.

She rolled over in her bed and sighed. Heather couldn't concentrate on anything other than the strange things happening to her.

These ghosts were playing games with her. She was certain that Elizabeth and Charles were real and not her imagination.

Heather rolled over and looked up at the stone head. Nash told her she didn't need a channel to speak with him, she only required belief.

"I believe in you Charles, I've seen you, I've spoken with you. I definitely believe. Give me a clue, a snippet. Please, I need to know what this is about."

Heather glanced at the clock and sighed again. It was after two am. Lately Heather had been sighing a lot. The only person she'd told of the strange things was her sister. She was relieved when Sophie said she'd believed her about the visitation from Elizabeth and the voice of Nash. Heather had not spoken to her since and had told no one about seeing him in the graveyard.

Heather was playing a waiting game. Waiting for something big to happen. She'd been watching the news over the last few days in case there was any clue of impending doom which could be linked to what Nash hinted at when he referred to the 'worst possible evil'. Was Nash talking of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or a tsunami? Or was he referring to something crashing from heavens? Maybe a meteor strike. If so, how on earth could she stop such a thing?

"The worst possible evil?" she whispered to herself.

Earthquakes, tsunamis and meteor strikes are deadly, but they aren't evil, they are natural things. Evil is a predetermined act. Something that someone does with intent. Such as an evil dictator.

She pondered over history's evil leaders. The obvious culprits flit around her mind. Hitler, Pol Pot, Saddam Hussein. Heather thought she would have more chance of stopping an earthquake, tsunami or a meteor strike than an evil dictator.

The stress of what had been happening was affecting her. Heather had no appetite, and had to force herself to eat. Normally she didn't drink very much, but recently she'd drink a bottle of wine in an evening. Drinking wasn't doing what it should. Instead of calming her nerves, she became morose when intoxicated and her mind worked harder than when sober trying to work everything out.

Even though it was December, the night was unseasonably warm. It didn't help that she'd forgotten to turn off the central heating and on top of everything else, her hot bedroom was another reason she found it hard to sleep. The window was open, and she appreciated the waft of gentle breeze which filtered its way through and cooled her hot skin.

Heather had finished a bottle of wine before she'd gone to bed and now she was thirsty. The alcohol dehydrated her. She got out of bed for a glass of water. She stood in her bedroom and looked at Charlie with his permanent grin etched upon his stupid stone face.

"Come on mate, give me a clue. You need to help me out," said Heather, then made her way to the kitchen.

The instant Heather set foot in the hallway she felt cold. It hit her like an icy blast. She shivered and took a step back into her bedroom where she appreciated the balmy heat. She was confused. She put her arm out into the hall and goose bumps made the hairs on her skin stand up. Heather was tired and a little bit drunk, but not enough to imagine the change in temperature. Thirst ravaged her and she craved a cool glass of water, but it was far too cold to walk to the kitchen in just her pyjamas.

She grabbed her jeans from the floor and slipped them on. In her wardrobe she found a jumper.

She made her way to kitchen at the end of the hall. For every step she took, the temperature dropped a degree.

The kitchen door was shut. Heather pushed on the handle and was shocked by how cold it felt. The iciness stung her skin.

What on earth is happening?

The door swung open, and she was hit by such a blast of icy air, it made her hallway feel positively clement. Her small kitchen was as cold as the outdoors on a winter's evening.

She flicked the light switch, and instead of the white harsh radiance of the fluorescent light, the kitchen became lit by a dim orange glow which danced around the room.

But it wasn't her kitchen. She had walked into a shed, or an out-building. She shuddered as the cold permeated her jeans and jumper. Her bare feet tingled against the stone floor and hurt as small pieces of stone and grit stuck to her soles. Her eyes got used to the dim light, and as they did she saw two figures in the corner. She rubbed her eyes.

Could this be a sign from Charles?

She took another step closer.

The orange light which illuminated the stone building was coming from behind her. She turned around, but couldn't see its source. It was as if someone behind her held an oil lamp, or something which emitted a naked flame.

She looked at the two figures who were a few feet in front of her. They were talking, but she couldn't hear their words. She knew it was only a vision and was not scared in the slightest. She stepped forward and knelt to the level of the one sitting on the floor. Heather looked at the young woman. Her clothes suggested she was not from the 21st century. She appeared afraid, with her back against the hard stone wall of the building.

Heather instinctively moved back as the other figure swiped the young woman across the face with a riding glove. The other figure was male with his back to Heather so she couldn't see his face. She took another step back. Even though she was sure he was an apparition, he scared her, and she didn't want to get too close.

She watched them speak and was frustrated because she couldn't hear what they were saying. She watched the woman's lips and tried to work out what she was saying. Heather was behind the man and knew by his stance and his body language that he was perplexed.

He climbed to his feet, turned and faced the door. Heather gasped and placed her hand over her mouth when she saw his face.

"No!" she whispered. She couldn't understand why it was him.

He looked right through her. She watched his mouth move as he spoke and this time she heard his words.

"She's not going to talk. Mr. Morris, do your worst."

It was his face, but it wasn't his voice.

He passed through her. She turned as he left the building.

What the hell does this mean?

The man was her brother-in-law, Finn Maynard.

After Finn left the building a short ugly man holding a burning torch entered and stood over the woman.

Heather was horrified and rooted to the spot as the ugly man relentlessly and repeatedly kicked the defenceless woman.

Heather could hear her voice. She flinched as the woman screamed.

The short man, Morris, grabbed a lamp hanging from the beam and smashed it to the ground beside her. Oil splashed across the floor and onto the woman's clothes.

"You really should have told Mr. Drake where his children are," grunted Morris.

The woman looked at him and with a voice which conveyed both defiance and confidence, told him they were not his children.

Heather knew what was coming next, but she felt compelled to watch.

Morris dropped the flaming torch and took two steps back as the oil ignited and flames raced towards the helpless woman. He stood for a few seconds and watched her body thrash from side to side as the flames engulfed her. Heather watched the fire illuminate his grim face. She wasn't sure if she saw him smirk as the woman's life drew to a dreadful close. He raised his hands and warmed them against the fire which consumed the building. Morris turned and headed for the door, passing through the space which Heather occupied. The heat of the flames was punctuated by the chill of Morris passing through her.

The woman writhed with agony. Her eyes met with Heather's and gazed at her with a sad and tired look.

She can see me, she can actually see me.

The woman relaxed as if she accepted her circumstances and was at peace. And then she spoke.

"Heather, I'm sorry that you have to see this. I'm sorry that you witnessed my horrible death. I can assure you it happened a long long time ago and since then, I have found happiness because I did the right thing. I needed you to see what you are up against. You need to prepare yourself for the worst possible evil."

"Who are you?" asked Heather.

"My name was Alice, Alice Donaldson. And I died whilst doing my best to keep two special and extraordinary children from that man."

"Children? What children? And that man? He's Finn Maynard, my brother-in-law."

Alice shook her head. "It may have looked like someone you know, but I can assure you it isn't."

The heat became too much for Heather to bear. The smoke was getting to her. She turned to the door, longing for the cool air of the hallway from where she'd entered the strange stone building. She pulled at the door, but it wouldn't open. It wasn't her kitchen door, but the dilapidated wooden door of the farm building in which Alice was losing her fight with death. A smouldering wooden beam fell from above, trapping her behind the door.

The smoke took Heather's breath. Each gasp for air choked her. Over the crackling sound of the flames she could make out a repetitive thud. Her eyes stung, and she tried to focus on the door.

Heather phased in and out of awareness. The smoke and heat robbed her of consciousness.

The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the door crashing down and two tall figures wearing yellow helmets and a masks.

### Chapter 43

Gabriel Butler left Finn's house just after three am. He'd spent the last nine hours explaining to a very confused, and at times angry Finn Maynard what was happening around him. Occasionally during the long meeting, Butler talked to his old friend Alexander Drake, and Drake spoke with Joseph Morris, but for most of the time Butler was trying to reason with Maynard and found it hard to pull Drake through Maynard's strong willed personality.

When Finn opened the door a stranger confronted him. But as soon as Butler mentioned the ring and referred to the raven as it flew above the rooftops, Finn connected with him. And as the initial short-lived connection happened, he saw a different person. Gone was the tall debonair gentleman sporting a Panama hat, and instead stood a short, squat, ugly man with a blue ink tattoo across his cheek. When he smiled Finn was shocked by his lack of teeth. As hideous as the man appeared, Finn warmed to him. There was something about him that gave him an overwhelming feeling of confidence, almost as if they could be brothers. He resisted the urge to throw his arms around the man and hug him. Instead, he'd invited the visitor into his home.

Finn closed the door and faced the stranger. The short ugly man with the tattoo was no longer there and instead stood the tall silver haired man from across the road.

"Take a seat in your lounge, I'll make us both a drink. What's your poison? Coffee or tea?"

Finn didn't answer. He sat in his lounge and tried to make sense of what was happening.

Butler stood in Finn's kitchen and watched the kettle come to the boil. Beneath the kitchen table lay a scattering of upturned sheets of paper. He closed his eyes and sensed the surrounding atmosphere. His long search was nearly over. He could almost smell the decay of the children's bodies as they lay over ten feet below. He'd taken a big chance when his short-lived construction company bought the land and built 11a Whitcombe Fields Road in the early eighties. It had been a leap of faith. But now, as he stood over the well in which lay the two hundred-year-old skeletons of William and Louisa, he was certain he'd been right. This was the reason he existed.

Butler placed the mug of tea on the table next to Finn and looked at his expressionless face. Part of him felt sorry for the pathetic man and part of him appreciated the strange transition he was experiencing. He understood that Finn was going through a period of confusion and doubt. He'd quickly transformed from the person he used to be to who he was now. Most of Finn Maynard's original character no longer existed, other than brief lapses when he fleetingly reverted to the man he once was...... the man who would do anything for his family. But now, the Finn Maynard who perched uneasily on the settee was mostly a confident and outspoken man who would think nothing of treading over his fellow men to achieve his personal goals. Butler's first job was to rid Finn of the wretched vulnerable man he used to be, and make sure the new Maynard was here to stay. And after, he would work hard at transforming Maynard into his old friend and associate Alexander Drake. Then the fun would begin.

Butler had been close to giving up over the past thirty years as each male who'd lived in 11a proved not to be the chosen one, despite the connection by way of their suicides.

Each male who'd lived in that house needed to have connected by way of their death to the next occupant of the home.

Butler's wait was over. Finn Maynard was the one. Although, in fairness to those before him, Finn had had a head start. He'd seen Buxton's drawings of the first two patterns which had been confirmed as correct because they matched his ring, and the drawings made by his daughter. But, he had done what none of those before him had achieved. He'd been able to work out the mysterious third pattern. Finn wasn't aware it was he who'd drawn it, he had no memory of doing so. He'd subconsciously clicked away on his computer mouse whilst in a deep trance like state, when he should have been in a taxi on his way to the airport.

But it hadn't just been Finn, Buxton, Gosling and Morrison. There were two hundred years of men obsessed by figuring the patterns. Everyone had been chosen by either the present day Butler, or one of his earlier incarnations, and each had been a victim of their own self-inflicted demise.

"What's going through your mind? I expect you have many questions for me?" said Butler.

Finn looked up.

"As a matter of fact I do. I have one big fat question for you. What the fuck is going on?"

"Well, I guess that is the sixty four thousand dollar question isn't it? And it's one which I can't answer, well at least not in full, and not to you."

Finn looked at Butler with complete bewilderment.

"What's that supposed to mean."

Butler sighed and shook his head.

"Do you remember the person you were recently?"

"I don't follow you."

"It wasn't very long ago you were a typical family man with no great ambition. And now look at you. You were about to bag a deal in States for your company."

Finn sat bolt upright.

"Shit, the Goldman account in Washington." He checked his watch, "I should be there right now."

Finn stood up and became erratic, pacing around the lounge.

"I need to get to the States."

Butler raised his hands and gently lowered them, signalling Finn to calm down and take a breath.

"Don't worry, I'm sure Tomlinson will find a way of covering your ass."

"How do you know Tomlinson?" asked Finn suspiciously.

"As I said when you opened the door, there are many things about you which I know. I've been keeping an eye on you. I've been doing my homework. You see Mr. Maynard, you're like an investment. I've invested a fair bit of money and an awful lot of time in you."

Finn was agitated. He wanted answers, and he wouldn't be pissed around by a pensioner wearing a ludicrous hat.

"I'm going to count to three, and if you don't start talking I'll pick you up by your throat and throw you out of my home."

Butler stared at him and appeared completely nonplussed.

Finn took two paces towards Butler and started to count.

"One, two, three......"

On the third count he raised his hand to strike the elderly man, only to be taken by surprise by Butler's lightening reactions and overpowering strength.

Finn lay crumpled on the floor.

"Don't fuck with me Maynard. You've no idea who or what you're dealing with."

Finn rubbed his head and looked at Butler.

"Now get up, sit over there and drink you tea."

Finn did as he was told.

Butler unbuttoned the top of his shirt and showed a gold medallion.

"It looks familiar doesn't it!" said Butler.

Finn squinted his eyes.

Butler took a couple of paces closer.

"It's the same as my ring, it has the same two patterns," answered Finn in a weary voice.

"That's right. There are only four pieces of jewellery with these patterns. The ring you wear, this around my neck and two other medallions identical to mine."

Butler looked at his medallion as he held it in the palm of his hand. Finn watched him transfixed by the two ruby red circular patterns.

"They're archetypa," said Butler

Finn looked at him with a frown.

"We refer to them as archetypa, not patterns."

"We? Who are we?"

"Questions, questions, questions, Mr. Maynard. You are so full of questions. But I guess you have every right."

Butler sat opposite Finn and picked up his drink.

"Why don't you start by telling me a few things? I'd like to know what's been happening to you over the past few months," said Butler.

Finn nodded.

"Okay, but before I do, tell me about you. Who are you, I mean who are you really?"

Butler nodded.

"I've told you who I am, but in case you've forgotten within the last ten minutes, my name is Gabriel Butler and my company built this house."

"Drake-Butler," whispered Finn as he recalled the conversation he'd had with Kieran Tempest.

"Yes, Drake-Butler. That was my construction company. We didn't last long. In fact we only built one house," said Butler gesturing with his hand to suggest he was referring to Finn's home.

"You went out of your way to build this house?"

Butler nodded

"So you are aware of the things that happened on this plot when the original builders were constructing here, and I assume you also know of the suicides of those who lived here before me?"

Butler nodded again.

"And Mr. Maynard, I know that you were on the train that separated Robert Buxton's head from his body."

Finn rubbed his face. He had many questions but didn't know where to begin. He knew that Butler wouldn't be answering many of them today.

"Now, tell me what's been happening to you. I reckon you have your own story to tell," said Butler.

Finn let out a long sigh after he'd explained how he came by the ring, his daughter's drawings, the ghost of Robert Buxton and the young boy, William, he'd seen in the kitchen. He didn't mention the vision of the young woman in the bathroom. He kept that story close to his chest.

"One thing I'd like to know, which has been plaguing me for almost a year,...... how did I come by this?" asked Finn as he outstretched the middle finger of his left hand to show the ring.

"It's my understanding the owner of an antique shop on the High Street gave it to you. I believe it was a gift."

"But I seem to be the only one who remembers that shop. I've asked around town and no one can recall it ever being there."

"Oh it was there. The reason no one else saw it was because they're weren't tuned in like you," explained Butler.

"Tuned in?"

"Think of it like a radio signal. Do you remember when you had to tune in a radio by twiddling a little knob?"

Finn nodded apprehensively.

"Well think of it this way. When you visited the antique shop, you were a little 'out of tune' with the world. It was like you were between two radio stations. Imagine being able to hear Radio Three fairly clearly, but you can also hear a ghost of another radio station. If that happened, what would you do?"

"I'd turn the tuning dial, to get rid of the other station."

"Correct! And what happened to you on that day was a little like being tuned in between two radio stations, but instead of two stations, you were tuned between two very close universes."

"Like parallel universes?"

"Yes, compare it to what you know of parallel universes, if it makes it easier for you."

Finn nodded, but wasn't sure where Butler was heading.

"You see, the antique shop was there, but only for you. The shop was out of phase with everyone else, so only you could call in that day."

"What of the shopkeeper, was he real?"

"Yes, and he still is. He's my good friend Mr. Snow. He's another who has one of these," said Butler as he gestured to the medallion around his neck.

"So whatever is happening is some kind of set up, some kind of conspiracy."

"Oh, Mr. Maynard, conspiracy is such a nasty word. Think of it not as a conspiracy. Think of it more that we are pleased to have you aboard. There's something you have which my friends and I need."

Before Finn could open his mouth, Butler raised his hands to silence him.

"Let me show you something."

Butler pulled his wallet from his pocket and shuffled through a large wad of money. He muttered and cursed until he found what he was looking for.

He handed over a small picture which was a copy of an old oil painting.

Finn held the picture and took a while to understand.

"Familiar isn't it?" said Butler.

"It's me, where did you get it?"

"It isn't you. It's a copy of a painting almost two hundred years old."

Finn stood up and walked to the mirror in the lounge. He looked at the picture, then his reflection and back to the picture. He ran his finger along the scar on his face and looked at the scar on the cheek of the man in the painting. His chiselled jawbone was almost identical to Finn's. Finn had only recently discovered he had such a handsome appearance since he'd joined the gym and had trimmed his body by losing almost two stone. Finn's long dark hair with a streak of grey above his temple matched the image of the man.

"Are you saying that this isn't me?" asked Finn.

"Come come Mr. Maynard. You're an intelligent man, I'm sure you can work out who this is. I heard you refer to him earlier this week when speaking with your wife."

Finn thought hard about what happened. He struggled to remember.

Butler would have liked to help Finn remember the conversation he had with Sophie, but knew it was up to Finn to work it out for himself.

Slowly Finn recalled her calling through the letter box. She had been concerned for his wellbeing. He remembered how the sight of her repelled him. He'd been irritated by her being there. The clouds fogging his memory lifted and the recollection of their heated conversation became clearer. He remembered standing on the door step telling her he wasn't Finn. He recalled what she'd said

'If you're not Finn, then tell me who you are?'

He looked at the picture and concentrated. Then he remembered what he'd said.

'My name is Alexander. Alexander Drake. Now fuck off.......'

"This is Alexander Drake!" said Finn in an agitated tone of voice.

"Bingo!" said Butler accompanied by a slow patronising handclap.

"And he must be the father of William and Louisa, the children my daughter talks about."

"Wow, Finn. You're cooking on gas now."

Finn slouched on the settee and stared at the picture. He thought of the incident in the bathroom with the young girl who'd spoken of Drake's children. The more he thought, the wearier he became.

Butler was happy for Finn to take a rest. The evening had taken the wind out of the confused man's sails. Butler grinned as Finn's head dropped and he began to snore. He lit a cigar and watched the blue grey smoke fill the room. He chuckled as Finn twitched and fidgeted whilst he slept.

I wonder what strange dreams are filling your head right now? thought Butler.

Just over an hour later Finn stirred. Butler sat upright and straightened his collar.

Finn's eyes opened and he looked at Butler.

"Wakey wakey young man."

It took Finn a few seconds to remember what had happened before he'd fallen asleep.

Butler gave him a few minutes to come around and then he spoke.

"You've something for me, something I'd like to see."

Finn looked at him blankly.

"I've something for you?" he replied sounding vague.

"Yes. You have the third archetypon. You have two of them on your ring, and now you have the third."

Finn sounded groggy.

"Archetypon?"

"Yes, the third pattern. I know you've worked it out, otherwise I wouldn't be here talking with you."

"I remember working on patterns, but I don't recall........"

Finn didn't finish what he was saying. He watched Butler jump up and move to the door of the lounge.

"Don't worry, I may have found it," said Butler, remembering the messy pile of A4 paper on the floor under the kitchen table.

Butler knelt beneath the table, scooped up the sheets of paper, turned them over and lay them on the kitchen table.

"This isn't right," he muttered to himself.

Each sheet had an attempt of the third archetypon, and each attempt had a cross. Just as Robert Buxton, David Gosling, Shaun Morrison and the others before them had done.

He stormed back to the lounge and dropped the papers on the floor.

"What's the meaning of this?" shouted Butler.

"Meaning of what?" asked Finn.

"These, they're wrong. You've not worked out the third archetypon."

Finn looked at the papers. He could vaguely recall working at the kitchen table. The past few days seemed as if he'd been in a morphine haze. His memory was clouded and muddled, only remembering brief snippets of what had taken place.

Butler was certain that Finn had worked out the elusive archetypon, the proof had been when he'd heard him refer to himself as Alexander Drake during the argument with his wife two days earlier. That could have only happened after Finn had seen it.

References to Drake, Alice Donaldson, William and Louisa would have infiltrated his mind from time to time, but to announce to Sophie that he was Alexander Drake could only have happened once he'd worked out the archetypon.

"Do you have another one, one without a cross? There must be one with a tick. Think man, think."

Finn felt like a schoolboy being intimated by the headmaster. He was confused and couldn't understand what he was supposed to do.

"Come on, think.......... concentrate. There must be one with a tick!"

"One with a tick," whispered Finn.

He closed his eyes. Suddenly the image of a pattern drawn in red flashed before him. He focussed with all his might and then he saw it again, and this time he caught a glance of the tick.

"Yes, I see it, I can see it in my mind."

"In your mind? It's no good there. We need it here, in front of us," demanded Butler in a raised voice.

"It's not on paper." said Finn.

"What do you mean, not on paper?"

"Shush, I'm trying to remember."

Butler became agitated and paced around the room. Finn raised his hand gesturing him to keep still.

"Let me concentrate, keep still, you're interrupting my thoughts."

Finn opened his eyes and glanced around the room, and then he saw it.

It had being lying there untouched since he'd put it down two days ago.

"Of course," he muttered.

He lurched over to the laptop, picked it up and lifted the lid.

Butler stood alongside Finn as he held the computer. The thing clicked and whirred into life.

The computer prompted Finn for his password and he stared at the incandescent screen.

"Bloody log onto the thing," insisted Butler.

Finn's mind was blank. He couldn't recall the password and stood shaking his head.

"My password, what's my password?"

"Is it your wife's name, or your daughter's?" shouted Butler.

Finn said nothing. He blocked out the sound of Butler's voice which geared up a notch every time he spoke.

Finn remembered receiving the laptop as a Christmas present from Sophie and he could recall setting a password that was topical. It had been a week after Christmas until he'd got the thing out of its box and set it up. His fuddled memory did him no favours.

"New Year's Day!" exclaimed Finn.

"What?"

"I set this thing up on New Year's Day!"

"Okay, try 112006," suggested Butler.

Finn shook his head.

"How about January06?"

Finn said nothing.

The two men stood in silence. Butler's patience wore thin, he bit his lip as Finn did his best to remember.

He recalled Rosie showing him the stone face she'd painted with Heather on New Year's Day.

He sat down, rested the computer on his lap and typed.

c h a r l i e 2 0 0 6

The little icon on the screen spun. Butler looked at Finn's face, lit by the pale glow from the laptop.

"Any luck?"

Finn didn't answer.

Butler watched the white glow reflecting in Finn's face change to red. Finn's pupils dilated as he gazed at the screen.

Butler took a pace forward, sat alongside Finn and looked at the screen. The radiance of what he saw was breath taking. He took the computer from Finn and placed it on his lap. A smile spread across his face as he gazed at what was in front of him. He ran his finger over the LCD screen in the spiral direction of the pattern. Years of searching were over. The old man swallowed hard as he struggled to hide his emotions. And then he spoke.

"Mr. Maynard you've done it, you've discovered the third archetypon."

THE END OF BOOK ONE

To continue reading The Third Skull Please source Book Two – The Revelation on-line.

