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The Skull Thief

The Skull Thief The following is taken from the laptop of local author Sebastian Doyle. Found dead the morning of Friday 1 st December, 2017.   The following has been released by public demand. They will be longer any further communications with the Doyle estate. We ask that the public please respect the wishes of the diseased family. We now consider the mystery behind Sebastian Doyle’s death now closed with the release of this document as we now consider this to be a full confession of the events of that occurred in 1992 and his eventual death in 2018. Transcription as Follows I was only a boy in 1992.   My mother had long given up on keeping track of me and I was free to run wild in my neighbourhood.   Whenever I would come home I would have a look of guilt.   I was sure there was something I’d done wrong.   Looking back you realise how trivial it all was.   How petty theft didn’t take you to prison, or how breaking windows in abandon buildings were almost a right
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Hither ‘ere Lanterns

The midnight sky was flooded in a glare. It was an aurora borealis of clementine orange. Joshua looked up from his truck out on to the dead road. His eyes locked on the anomaly.  His wheel locks, and with it the tires skidded the truck into a tree. He slumped at the wheel, mustering his energy to look above as the light consumed the sky. The orange glow sank into his eyes.  It was all he could see.  He looked down at his chest where he felt an acute pain.  A branch had torn through his clothes and rested comfortably beside his lungs, protruding like a welcomed hand to the buzzards. He wondered if they would use it as perch whilst they gnawed away at him, a buffet parchment for a carcass. ‘Get up.’   Joshua uttered, defiant.   He looked down at his body. It was fat with age.   Sweat was pouring from his brow.   His rough hands grappled the branch as he tried to pull it loose.   The more he twisted and toyed with it the more he screamed, the agony of the splintering bark against the in
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Kelso's House

Legislative manuscripts and books of law line the shelves. In front of the solicitor is the will and last testament of Mr Bankcroft’s stepfather.  ‘Mr Bankcroft, as you can see here you’ve been left the estate of Mr Kelso.  As discussed very little has been left as to why he’s left this property to you, but he has left a note.  Perhaps it would explain more.’ Mr Bankcroft looked at the envelope, it looked cheap, the kind his stepfather bought in bulk like so many other things.  He pulled the letter out and read it. His mouth let out a wry smile.  ‘Well what is it?’ Mrs Cecilia Bankcroft pulled on his elbow.  ‘He says we’re allowed the house as long as we don’t take down the picture of his mother.’ ‘What? That’s it? Did he not say anything else?’ ‘Only that we’re allowed the house if we keep his mum up on the wall.’ ‘How are they going to police that?  Can you police that?’ Cecilia looks directly at the solicitor. It was the first she heard of any of this. ‘Well I’m not sure it’s a stip
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The Last Sketches of Alice

Prologue It was the blizzard that kept her indoors.   So it was from the sanctuary of her bedroom that Alice watched the snowfall. She brought out her notebook and began to draw the lines of the snowflakes as they spiralled out on the window. They began to web, appearing to make cracks in the glass.   As if a spider was waiting for its prey. It was the first days of winter. And the first time Alice heard about him . She spiralled the ice onto her paper, the pencil askew as she heard the fatal screams from next door.   A mans head rolled on to the ice below stuck like a fly onto the frozen web. Chapter 1 Static played from Alice Harbinger’s walkie-talkie, a voice was trying to reach her. It hummed with the stray flies.   Alice lifted her walkie and flicked the switch, turning the dial, tuning out the feedback. Crccht…. “Welcome to Willholme…”Chrcct.   The voice belonged to a man, his voice deep but gentle. “…Bill?.” Rccct… “Alice!” fzzr “Shouldn’t you be running this place? Maybe not ta
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