The Forbidden Zone....Home of The OrangeBox, keepers of Skully, an ancient, quartz crystal skull.

When David met Skully.

Skully became known as Skully on the strength of an off-the-cuff remark made by Divina. She had popped in to see me and asked "How's Skully?" Everyone present though it most apt, and from that moment he was called Skully.

The route via which Skully arrived in my care can bluntly be described by one of two options.

A: A coincidence that any bookmaker would offer odds of millions-to-one against (i.e. 'normality.')
B: The act of an intelligence far in advance of that currently understood, or usually encountered.

My own initial thoughts favored the 'sheer-blind-luck theory' for the simple reason that: If one considers the chain of events required to define and specify the conditions required for any and all occurrences -starting with the formation of the Cosmos, right through to 'dropping that pen at that precise moment whilst wearing those particular clothes, etc., etc.,' These probabilities start adding up to billions-to-one against. The odds of winning the lottery are 14,000,000 / 1 against, but twice a week someone defies those odds. The series, '1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6' is as likely to be produced by the lottery draw as any other possible combination of six numbers. But one's mind rebels against this and nobody bets on it. Under such cross-examination the odds of me being in a particular place at a particular time dwindled remarkably. Besides that -at the time- I could not give any credence to the possibility that this planet in general, and me in particular, was unknowingly subject to the actions of a 'higher authority.'

I have, however, come to realize that in adopting this particular stance, I was perhaps being a little narrow-minded. How could I (for instance) convince a liver cell that it was just one tiny part in an immense organism all of which being under the control of a remote and mysterious brain? Nor could I explain the existence of an 'external and controlling' world beyond the womb, to an unborn baby. These and many other such allegories have gradually swung the pendulum of my opinion wholly onto the side of the 'higher-authority hypothesis'. On the weight of my personal experiences alone I am willing, without reservation or hesitation to state that ' I do not believe in the existence of 'extraterrestrial intelligence's' I know they exist! Furthermore I am able to offer a means by which any individual - Channeller, Psychic or otherwise- can discover this for themselves. I herein do not imply a mere collection of 'clever words' that the reader can believe or otherwise. My assertions are twofold.

Firstly: I offer a series of indisputable facts that for reasons I shall discus later, have remained 'concealed' from the general population of this planet.

Secondly: A series of practical exercises, the usage of which will create...a bridge!
Personal and individual gnosis leading to understanding is the only true test. Faith and belief are no longer necessary, relevant or even valid tools to prop up the extant series of absurd proposals (I include all religious, mystical and paranormal dogma in this category) that both blatantly offend one's intelligence and common sense. And which, whilst making great promises to the faithful, have yet to deliver any dividends.

You may think the above to be a rash or foolhardy statement, I can only say -in all sincerity and humility- that I have not even scratched the surface yet. The disease of Mankind is Forgetfulness. The symptoms of this disease have resulted in our gravest error. On a much smaller scale I shall demonstrate this disease in action ( I do not aim the following at you as a personal slur. But rather as a general point to any and all readers of this interview.) I am assured by your intelligence and general manner that you are reading, considering and ultimately digesting this material with care and attention (Otherwise what is the point of doing anything!) Bearing this in mind, I ask you "Before I digressed, what was the topic of this paragraph? Which of your questions was I specifically answering? The question I was answering was placed second in importance on your list, yet it is unlikely that you are able to recall it. It is a fair comment that your familiarity with the questions will give you distinct advantage over any other reader. But the principle applies in all cases, and with such opposition to development, it is astonishing that We, as a species ever came out of our prehistoric caves.

I will now return to describing the events that led to the meeting of Skully and Myself. Towards the latter part of May, 1997, on a Sunday ( I cannot remember the specific date. However, this could probably be ascertained by reference to my personal diary, in which I would have noted the purchase of a linen box). I was at the moving from one address to another. This was taking time as my new home required a considerable amount of redecorating. I had taken it into my head to buy a linen box to go at the foot of my bed and was determined to find one with a domed lid. Despite the seeming simplicity of this task, I was experiencing the utmost difficulty in acquiring such a box, despite visiting all towns and cities within a twenty mile radius.
By now, issue had become personal and I was determined not to give up until the required box was in my possession. I also wanted an antique pillbox to give to a friend as a Birthday present.

Every month or so, Doncaster Racecourse (of 'The St. Ledger' fame) holds a gigantic Sunday market. This comprising both indoor and outdoor areas which host a multitude of stalls selling everything from car-boot junk to fine antiques. It was possible that this market may provide both the linen and pillbox. A bonus was the possibility of picking up a few old books (which I have collected for years.)
I got up late and almost didn't go: The best buys nearly always being picked over by the early-birds. It was however a beautiful morning and I felt my luck -with the linen box- had to change. I arrived at about 11.30A.M., The long, thin field used as a car-park was very full and I was faced with a five minute walk from my car to the market entrance. I spent about forty minutes browsing the outdoor stands, buying only fruit and vegetables, before entering the enclosed area.

The atmosphere inside was very different to the open market. Like walking from a cafe into a restaurant. People carefully examined Grandfather clocks, brass, pottery, paintings and jewellery with glass lenses, whilst jabbering to each other and the traders. After about twenty minutes my hope of finding either linen box or pill box was fading fast. At this point I arrived at a corner-stall, selling -amongst other things- old books. I overheard the stall-holders -a somewhat distinguished looking lady of about 60 or so and a very 'RAF' looking man in a dark suit, aged about 50- explaining to a potential customer that they were attempting to dispose of some unwanted articles belonging to a recently deceased man called 'Leonard' (I have no idea as to the relationship -if any- between the deceased and stall-holders.) The stall in question was stocked with a wide assortment of furniture, clothing, paintings, etc.. I particularly noted a large globe mounted on an oak tripod, and several stuffed animals. My overall impression of the stall was that it displayed the relics of an upper-class Victorian gentleman.

The books on offer were loosely stacked along the surface of a wooden table. My attention being fixed on these, I rather clumsily stumbled, stubbing my toe on something hard under the table. Instinctively I looked down to see what I had kicked, and how much damage had been done. My 'victim' was a metal trunk, with a domed lid and panels that gave the impression of leather binding straps. It was about seventy or so years old and in need of some attention. But other than that, it was absolutely what I had been looking for. I proceeded to drag it from beneath the table to get a better look. It was much heavier than I expected (I had assumed, for no rational reason, that it was empty.) The male stall-holder asked me If I needed any help: I didn't, but thanked him anyway. The trunk was almost full. On top was a pile of about twenty newspapers dating from the 1960s. These I took out and was then confronted by a jumbled heap of books, papers, etc. The condition of these varied from good to abysmal. I had no intention of unpacking them all but noted that the visible titles related to Biblical, Kaballistic and Masonic subjects. I approached the lady stall-holder and asked the price of the trunk. "As a job-lot, £50" she replied. This was about £25 more than I wanted to hear. But, the trunk perfectly fitted my requirements, and was the only one I had been able to locate despite several weeks of searching. It was also possible that a good rummage through the enclosed books would turn up something I could sell to a dealer, enabling me to recoup at least some of the price. We settled on £45 and I then carried what felt like half a ton of damp paper and rusty metal back to my car. The deal became less and less of a good buy with each step. But, eventually, with arms that felt like lead, I drove home with my linen box in the boot of my car.

It was several months later that I was finally able to look again at the chest and consider how best to convert it into a linen box for my recently decorated bedroom. Removing its contents seemed the obvious way to start. I quickly realized that by selling just some of the books I would be able to recover the entire cost of the chest and perhaps make a small profit. Most had been removed when I came across a cloth pouch containing a vaguely spherical and unusually heavy object (which I guessed to be a cannonball.) Closer observation showed the pouch to be a square of faded white linen. A few small flowers had been embroidered on the linen, which also had a hem. It was probably a section cut from a tablecloth, the four corners being drawn together and tied, quite tightly, with a thin strip of the same material: Probably from the same tablecloth. With some difficulty I loosened the ties and carefully -more due to the weight than anything else- eased the object out. It came out backwards and on seeing the curved and highly polished surface I became convinced it was a large crystal ball. Seconds later, as the pouch fell away I realized it was an ornamental skull. As I raised it towards my face to get a better view, a beam of sunlight caught the brow of its left eye-socket and flashed back a burst of golden sparks. It was impossible to deny the rather silly notion that it had winked at me.
A much smaller pouch (of the same material) was stuffed into the right eye socket. This contained a few slivers of wood plus some small fragments of material and other debris. As a postscript I will note that on the Sunday evening I placed the skull on my bedside table, and whether coincidence or not, that night I had two of the most powerful experiences of my life. These I will describe at a later time.