Second Chance: The Return of Anrok

By Thomas J. Stone

Anrok, the demon from Cast The First Stone, returns to punish the sinners in 21st Century Britain. DI Gerry Daly, also fighting personal demons, returns to investigate another serial killer. But how do you combat a murderer who transports to and from the 5th Century at will? Author Mark Mason and a new friend, Downey, have to travel back in time to destroy the demon on his own turf and his own time. How exactly do you kill a powerful demon who is also in possession of the cursed amulet once owned by a witch?

Follow Mark and Downey as they travel north to face Anrok in a final battle, meeting new people on the way and an old adversary too. And back in the real world experience the gruesome murders inflicted by Anrok as Daly tries to cope with pressure from his senior officers and a corrupt newspaper journalist to conclude the case.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas J. Stone
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798751348557

Book preview

SECOND CHANCE

Copyright Thomas J. Stone 2021

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1

KINGSFORD KILLINGS ENDED?

There hasn’t been another murder in the Kingsford area for several months, and although officially the police are tight-lipped on the subject and no official statement forthcoming, it seems that the killer of five local residents and a police officer, Sergeant James Weatherby, has apparently stopped his spree. Detective Inspector Gerry Daly has flatly refused all attempts to clarify events over the summer just ended. A local man, Frank Kelly, was allegedly attacked by the killer during the murder of Sergeant Weatherby according to a source at the hospital where he was treated for a severe and potentially life threatening upper arm wound. Kelly was also spotted at the funeral for the sergeant alongside Inspector Daly and a third man, later identified as history professor Jim Anderson, also a local man. Anderson had been credited as ‘Historical Advisor’ by author Mark Mason in his debut book Cast The First Stone. Mason, a close friend of Daly, was absent from the service.

Was Sergeant Weatherby the Kingsford Killer? Were the circumstances of his death covered up by the police? The killings appear to have stopped which may suggest there is more than meets the eye to the case. If the serial murderer was anyone but the police sergeant then why is there no other evidence pointing to another perpetrator? If not a conspiracy, then why are there no other official suspects?

Daly had previously investigated a spate of apparent suicides just over one year ago. The case was famously turned into best-selling fiction by local author Mark Mason, as previously mentioned. Has there been a cover-up involving Daly, Mason, Kelly and Anderson? Time may tell and rest assured, The Watford Courier will endeavour to bring you the truth as it unfolds.

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What a load of complete bollocks, spat Daly, sitting across from his best friend, Mark Mason. A huge dark mahogany desk lay between them. I should have a quiet word with that Ellis idiot. He can’t get away with telling the public that Jimmy was the killer.

Mark turned off the Sony mini digital recorder that had documented Daly’s candid telling of the Kingsford Killer investigation. Mark had been away in the US, meeting with publishers in Los Angeles and appearing on the odd chat show to promote the last book, The Market Lane Mystery; about a giant spider that had lurked in the damp cellar of an old Victorian house near the centre of London, used as a squat by mainly young homeless people. It was based on another of Daly’s cases a few years previously even before they had met. The colossal spider was responsible for several disappearances over six months, including the wayward son of a Member of Parliament, and had then torn off the arm of his sergeant at the time, Gibson. The ‘official’ records intimated an attack by a wild animal of unknown origin, the beast apparently escaping from the cellar never to be seen again. But Daly had got a very good look at the creature as he tried to drag the ailing Sergeant Gibson back up the steps to safety, saving his life in the process.

You know, Gerry. I never really got on with Weatherby, but it’s a damn shame he had to die saving this Frank Kelly. What’s Kelly like anyway? asked Mark, interested in who one of the leads in his planned book of the killings was. The latest member of their Survivors Club.

He’s a typical local guy, mate, said Daly. He moved away from the village in his late teens, went up to Scotland and became an AA mobile mechanic in the middle of nowhere, got married to some Irish girl and they had two kids. His marriage went wrong and he returned to the village years later after living alone up there for a while. He’s not seen his kids or grandkids in years. The guy had always been obsessed with the sequences of murders every twenty-two years since he was almost a victim and his research helped me with my investigation. It certainly convinced me that he wasn’t just some nutter when we met for the first time. You’d like him, Mark, he’s like a new man since Consus was finally stopped. He got on really well with Jim Anderson and helped him a lot with the research. As I’ve said, Jim saved his life after the attack on him, patched him up and got him to hospital in the nick of time.

"How is the big man? asked Mark, smiling.

Jim is actually doing some real work at the moment. He’s back teaching at the Uni full time, churning out a new breed of budding archaeologists - hopefully without his massive appetite for pizza. I watched him demolish three large ones in one go, Daly chuckled. At least he recycled the boxes which is more than I usually do, so fair play to him.

He can certainly put the food away, said Mark. I’ll have to get him out walking with me, shed a few of those extra pounds. I’d really hate to see him keel over with a heart attack.

Good idea, I may come out with you. I need to lose a bit of weight too.

Yeah, I didn’t want to mention it mate, but your scotch and kebab diet is starting to take it’s toll. You’re fatter than that bloke who used to play for United.

I’ll have you know my body is a bloody temple! exclaimed Daly.

So that’s why you look like Buddha then, laughed Mark.

Bugger off, you skinny prick, grinned Daly, continuing the banter they both enjoyed.

I’m just bloody handsome and you’re jealous, smirked Mark.

Talking of beauty, where’s Nat today?

She’s out shopping in Watford with my mum, probably spending a fortune on shoes or something.

I’ve never understood why women need so many shoes, I have two pairs and some trainers. Anyway. you can afford it mate, look at this place - you live like a bloody rock star!

Mark had bought the mansion from the old actor, Ronald Reed, with the proceeds of his first book after it was made into a film. One of the new Hammer productions that were good but not a patch on the old classics with Cushing and Lee. The actor hadn’t worked for years and the cash was running out according to the estate agent, a short, round character called Sydney who Mark had known since renting a flat in Marsham from the agency. Mark managed to get the place for an absolute song and moved in a few days after Reed had relocated with a young ‘friend’ to a small cottage on the Dorset coast.

The grand house had a large drawing room on the ground floor on the left of the spacious parquet-floored foyer. It was full of antiques and comfortable brown leather chairs resting on an exquisite colourful Chinese rug. Mark used the room for entertaining, either publishers and friends or family and the oak bar there was well stocked. Next on that side of the house was a spacious dining room, complete with a highly polished massive mahogany table, big enough to seat twenty people comfortably, bathed in light from the crystal chandelier high above. Then came the study where Mark and Daly were seated. Mark used it as his workplace and it was nice and quiet there at the rear of the house. Apart from the giant desk complete with a thirty-two inch monitor connected to the desktop PC stored under the desk and an interesting ornament of Poe’s Raven complete with gold key on a chain around it’s neck and sitting on a log, were bookshelves housing hardback editions of his favourite authors. James Herbert, John Saul, Ramsey Campbell, Clive Barker and John Wyndham amongst others. He was a massive fan of contemporary horror even before becoming a writer himself and Herbert, in particular, was a big influence on his writing. Poe, Machen, Wells and Lovecraft were amongst the older works on the shelves. On the cream wall above the desk there was an oil painting of Marsham Stones. It was painted by the recently deceased artist Dominic Brand, who was accidentally burnt to death in his own home... supposedly. According to Mark’s first book, Brand was a victim of the demon, Anrok. The painting was a sort of paradox to Mark as he associated the stones to the near sacrifice of his now wife, Nat, but also instrumental in his later success as an author.

Opposite his study was a huge kitchen, even larger than his mum’s, which was very big in itself. Nat had all the modern conveniences as well as an iron range with double oven. Nat loved cooking but the lack of proper equipment and space in the old flat meant she was always a bit limited. Now she was in her element. The kitchen was decorated in white and yellow with a touch of green and reminded Mark of a spring walk. The fridge in the corner was one of those big American jobs with twin doors and room for everything you could need including Mark’s stash of cans of Stella Artois and Magners Cider and Nat’s chilled white wine and vodka. Countless cupboards lined most of the free space along the walls and a tasteful old pine table and four chairs sat in the centre of the room. There was also a walk-in pantry which housed a large chest freezer. A long glass door led out onto a patio with several chairs around a table with a large red and white umbrella giving plenty of shade when needed.

Next to the kitchen was a utility room with a washer and a dryer, shelves, and two stainless steel rails with a couple of dozen hangers used for airing. Then came the downstairs toilet and finally another sitting room. A sixty inch TV sat in the corner hooked up to a surround sound system and a Bluray player. There was also a Bose stereo with huge speakers either side of a fireplace that was just there for decoration, not used for decades. The plush beige carpet was probably comfortable enough to sleep on and three leather sofas lined the walls. A long smoked glass coffee table took up the centre of the room. They didn’t use that area of the house much, Mark found it hard to find much time to relax, his mind always working on ideas for new books, and Nat spent a lot of time in the kitchen experimenting with new recipes. She loved creating new dishes to impress her new mother-in-law, Ellie, who was a magnificent cook herself.

A wide staircase twisted around and up the wall next to the drawing room. Eight bedrooms filled the top level and Mark and Nat used one of those at the rear of the house. Not only was it the biggest, but it looked out onto the spacious garden below. The large bed took centre stage and the dark wood blended in perfectly with the reds and browns decorating the walls. There was also an en-suite bathroom with large wardrobes either side of the doorway. There was no TV in the bedroom but there was a stereo there next to a rustic oak CD rack that was almost full of music.

The long lush green lawn at the rear stretched out to a stout privet hedge, and the fields on the other side belonged to the local farmer. Mostly used for grazing cows, goats and sheep and the odd horse, so no noisy machinery to be heard at either planting or harvest times, according to the estate agent, Sydney. Just the sounds of the animals.

At the front of the house was a circular gravel drive leading to an electric double gate made of iron and painted jet black. Outside the gates was a secluded country lane. To the left side of the house was a garage that could comfortably house four cars. Behind the low garage were the stables. Empty at the moment, but Mark and Nat had plans to keep a couple of horses at some point in the future. Mark was very happy with the new place and Nat absolutely loved it. She’d been brought up on a council estate, and to her, this place was a palace.

It’s time I was off, mate, said Daly wearily. I’ve got White, my new sergeant, plodding around catching up with menial tasks while I’m up here chatting with you.

What’s he like, this White? asked Mark, hoping the new man would be a little friendlier than Weatherby.

Typical Northern gobshite to be honest, mate. He’s apparently a Billy Big Balls up in Manchester and is being fast-tracked up the food chain and now he’s down here to get a bit more experience. To hear him talk he’s already cleaned up Manchester of all the crime there and come down to show us how it’s done. Probably be gone in six months, I bloody well hope so.

Come back Weatherby, all is forgiven, sighed Mark.

I wish, said Daly, also with a sigh.

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3

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Nat was enjoying a relaxing day out with her new mother-in-law, Ellie, although she knew her feet would be aching by the end of the day’s shopping. She loved Ellie’s company and it was one of their regular days out. Sometimes shopping, sometimes visiting places of interest like museums or art galleries or even castles. Today they were in Watford town centre and had visited most of the shops on the left hand side of the high street and were already laden with carrier bags full of clothes and shoes. They decided it was a good time to stop for lunch and stepped into a pub to eat and rest for a little while. The pub was fairly quiet and the temperature was quite cool. They sat at a vacant oak table next to a large bay window looking out onto the busy high street. A thin waitress with long black hair scraped back and tied in a pony tail appeared very quickly and gave them each a menu each and they ordered soft drinks and food.

I wish there was a shop where I could buy some new feet, joked Ellie.

Problem is they would be slightly different to the ones you have and you’d have to replace all your shoes again, laughed Nat.

Whoever said that was a problem, Ellie smiled.

Jack may object, said Nat, grinning.

Good point, I have to keep the old man sweet, said Ellie with a wink. He’s happy as long as we don’t go bankrupt. He spends enough money on his golf club membership, as well as a new car every year, doesn’t he? I do love my little treats though.

Jack Mason was Ellie’s husband of nearly thirty years. He owned his own accountancy firm but was now pretty much retired, just going into the office one day a week to check things were running smoothly. His manager, Paul Stapleton, kept things ship-shape in his absence and was very capable which took any worry or stress away from Jack. He was always at the end of the phone if there was a crisis and was needed. He really only went in on a Monday morning so that the staff remembered who was paying their wages and to keep up with the office gossip. At that moment he was at home pottering around the garden listening to Bach on his wireless headphones. Occasionally taking a break and sitting at the table on the patio with a cup of milky coffee.

Nat and Ellie stared out of the pub window while they waited for their food, watching the people milling around, ordinary people, possibly leading extraordinary lives, but one never knew just by looking at them. Nat thought Mark would conjure up a deep, dark secret for one or two of them. Maybe a serial killer just passed by or possibly someone who turned into a vicious monster by the light of the full moon. His imagination was pretty amazing but his big break came when writing about an episode in their own lives. When she was abducted by a fifth century witch and almost sacrificed to complete a ritual that would mean the witch would become flesh and blood again.

A tall, dark haired priest walked past the window and looked in. He had equally dark haunted eyes that a lot of priests seemed to have. Nat thought it was because they constantly had the weight of their parishioners on their shoulders. She wondered at all the secrets he knew from the confessions he had heard. He looked sorely tempted to stop in for a quick drink, but must have thought better of it and continued on his lonely walk to who knew where. Back to his church? Maybe a sick parishioner in hospital? Maybe even the local bookie? Nat loved watching people.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when the dark waitress arrived with their meals, a light salad for Ellie and a tuna panini for Nat. They chatted while they nibbled at their food and sipped on the drinks. Nothing important though, just day-to-day family things like meals at each others houses and trips out during the week. They had a mental list of places they wanted to visit eventually. Castles were a favourite for them. The previous week they had visited Dover Castle with Jack and Mark and had a great time, taking hundreds of photos on their phones and Jack’s DSLR camera, enjoying the view from the roof of the keep, although Nat didn’t venture too near the battlements due to her horrendous fear of heights. They decided that Hastings and Battle would be the next trip out together. Jack commented that he was almost old enough to have attended the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Ellie then joked she had a thing for older men.

They finished their meal and slowly ambled back along the opposite side of the high street. Mainly window shopping but now and again nipping into the odd shop to have a look around if something caught their eye in the displays. They were tempted to buy a few more items but were already laden with bags which were starting to get heavier by the minute. They stopped at a jewelers and admired the rings and necklaces, Ellie making a mental note to drag Jack into Watford and steer him towards this window. She had a birthday coming up soon and loved the look of a pair of emerald earrings in the window.

The pair arrived at the multi-storey car park and Nat paid for their stay using an automated machine and then they took the small lift up to the third level. The lift was a bit cramped as they shared it with a young mother with a small child in a buggy and another couple of kids hanging onto her shabby brown coat. Nat imagined what her own kids would be like. She was waiting for the right moment to tell Mark about her pregnancy. She planned on making a lovely meal for them and then announce it. Tomorrow... she’d do it tomorrow... maybe.

They finally reached Nat’s brand new car, a bright red Jaguar E-Pace. A compact two litre model with a nine speed automatic gearbox. There was plenty of room for their shopping in the deceptively large boot. Nat pressed a button and the engine purred effortlessly into life. The air con immediately turned on and the air purifier started filtering out the pollen and other impurities from outside. Nat turned on the impressive entertainment system and Joe Cocker blasted out from the speakers. They both sang along with Joe as Nat drove the fifteen miles to Ellie’s house. Nat parked next to Jack’s black Mercedes and Ellie’s little blue Honda and they went into the house. They found Jack dozing in the late-afternoon sun which had started to flood onto the patio. Jack had moved on from the usual milky coffee to a couple of single malts. Ellie thought the poor ‘old bloke’ looked exhausted.

Ellie made them all coffee and all three sat at the outside table and chatted about their day. Jack pointed towards the hedge he’d trimmed while trying to avoid decapitating the odd squirrel at the end of the garden which was now cleared of the twigs which had fallen from the trees that formed a border from the fields behind. The house was at the end of a row of four generously spaced out properties on a country lane close to a couple of farms. Ellie told Jack about most of the items she’d bought, deliberately avoiding telling him about the four pairs of shoes now residing in the cupboard under the stairs, waiting to be transported in secret to her wardrobe