The Wrath of the Skull

By Derek Rogerson and Aileen Nevin

Following on from their last adventure, our six girls and Arukot have worked to ensure the wave-making machines have continued to generate unlimited clean electricity. Now, the machines could be converted to help clean the ocean floor of debris deposited by humans.

But then things start to go terribly wrong. Strange mists and rainclouds st

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Parrot Publishing
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781838276942

Book preview

Prologue

Despite all the odds the evil Emilino was still alive. She had learned nothing from her previous experiences with the ‘Brig’ girls, and in her heart, there burned only one obsession – revenge. And though a stranger in a strange land, without the support of her evil cohorts, she planned her revenge. The retribution she planned was so terrifying that not only would the girls meet their demise, but so would most of life on the surface of the planet. But just how could Emilino achieve this without help? Little did she know at that time that help was at hand. But from who and how and when? Well dear reader, if your curiosity is suitably stimulated, I suggest that you turn over the page, settle down in your favourite chair, and find out for yourself!

Chapter 1

A Grim Discovery

Shamrock whimpered softly, taking a tentative sniff at the weird creature now sprawled grotesquely on the beach before gazing at his master Patrick for guidance. Patrick hurriedly made the sign of the cross before remarking to the Garda officer that he had never seen anything like it in his life. Constable Peter O’Lochlan scratched his head thoughtfully before replying that he’d not seen anything quite so scary since the big scrap outside the Harbour Bar last summer.

‘Oi tink it may be one o’ dem der Extra Territorials,’ declared the officer, licking the end of his pencil before making a note of the finding in his dog-eared notebook. Patrick nodded his agreement while pulling at Shamrock’s lead, who was now growling menacingly as the creature’s chest slowly rose and fell; a sure indication that it still lived.

‘Well, I ain’t taking any chances with dis one,’ announced Constable O’Lochlan. ‘I’ve been in enough trouble with Sergeant Flaherty these past weeks for making what he considers poor decisions. I’ve no wish in my heart to get this one wrong. Now Paddy you take the legs and oile take the head and let’s get this craiture back to the station. I’ll put it in the cell – Oh bejabbers! Now I come to tink of it, I tink Michael Cleary might still be in there; it’ll be sure to sober the old soak up when he claps his eyes on his new cellmate,’ chuckled the constable to himself…

Emilino tentatively opened one eye and gazed apprehensively at her strange surroundings; the bars all around left her in no doubt that she was in a prison of some kind. She shook her aching head and slowly her mind cleared as she recalled the last happenings before she had lost consciousness. There was a devasting underwater explosion directly below where she had clung to the wreckage of the raft; an explosion so powerful that no ordinary living creature could possibly have survived its power. But Emilino was no ordinary living creature and though sorely wounded she clung to life like some indestructible evil limpet.

Emilino deduced that she’d been washed up on a beach somewhere off the east coast of Ireland, and because of her frightening appearance, she’d been locked up in this cell until the authorities worked out just who or what they were dealing with….

Michael Cleary eventually awoke from the previous night’s carousing, although it must be said that nearly every night was an alcohol-fuelled party for Michael. However, the landlord of the Harbour Bar had little reason to complain as Michael’s regular riotous behaviour contributed considerably to his profits. It was a pity though that the end product of his revelry usually resulted in fisticuffs and a night in the cells.

He blinked his bloodshot eyes in an effort to focus on his cellmate, who was now sitting up on the regulation bunk bed and gazing intently in Michael’s general direction. It usually took most of the morning for Michael to sober up from his overindulgence. However, on this particular morning it took less than 30 seconds for his brain to register the grotesque creature staring keenly back at him.

‘By all that’s holy,’ screamed Michael. ‘Peter O’Lochlan, get me out of here – NOW! Saint Patrick and all the Saints in heaven preserve us, it’s the divil himself who’s giving me the evil oye. Oive never seen anything so horrible in me life. I swear if you open this cell door and let me out, I’ll pay the fine and oile never touch another drop of alcohol as long as I live.’ Constable O’Lochlan heard the commotion just as he was settling down for what he considered a well-earned cuppa, and silently cursed Michael for making such a hullabaloo as he reluctantly put down the chipped, tea-stained mug and made his way down to the cells.

Now two things happened at that precise moment; Sergeant Flaherty walked into the Garda station just as Emilino spied an opportunity to put her shape shifting skills to good use. The Sergeant glared at his subordinate and demanded to know what all the racket was about.

‘Ah Sarge, it’s that drunken Michael Cleary again making a fuss about nothing.’ He explained. ‘I put one of dem der dodgy looking foreigners in the cell with him. It’s a funny looking craiture I must admit, and I guess it’s put the wind-up poor old Michael.’

‘Ah Peter me lad, it’s come to something when you can’t keep order in your own station,’ Sergeant Flaherty sighed wearily. ‘I suppose as usual oile have to sort this mess out,’ he added as the pair hurried down to the cell.

The sight that greeted the two officers was almost beyond belief. One Michael was now halfway up the bars at one side of the cell, still screaming loudly, w

‘Mmm! You could be right about that me lad,’ mused the sergeant, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘So, it could be something even more serious than we tink, like some jealous foreign brewery trying to pinch the recipe of our world-famous stout!’ Both men blanched at the very thought of such a heinous crime and were now more determined than ever to discover exactly who the real Michael was – and just who the imposter was.

‘Now come on the pair o’ ya,’ demanded Sergeant Flaherty. ‘Which of youse is the real Michael Cleary and oile set you free immediately,’ he added.

‘Oim Michael Cleary sir,’ said the figure on the right-hand bars.

‘No, I’m Michael Cleary,’ said his double on the other side.

‘He’s lying to youse,’ responded the first Michael to speak. ‘I’m Michael Cleary.’

‘Don’t believe him,’ the second Michael countered. ‘I’m Michael Cleary.’ The two officers stared at each other in total disbelief at what they were seeing and hearing.

‘It’s like a scene from that owd filum Sparky something,’ declared the Sergeant.

‘I know the one you mean sarge,’ the constable replied. ‘Sparky and the Magic Piano.’

‘No ye great eejut, I mean the one where everybody stands up and says I’m Sparky.’

‘Ah gotcha sarge. The filum was called Spartacus, and him and his mates were gladiolaussess or summat loike that.’

‘They were a bunch of flowers then?’ replied the sergeant. Sounds a strange filum to me.’

Meanwhile, Emilino, in her guise as Michael Cleary watched the crazy scene