This Haunted World Book One: The Venetian: A Chilling New Supernatural Thriller

by Shani Struthers

  “We need to get you to the day room,” Piero decided. “It’s the closest room to where we are, and there are chairs in there. You can sit and wait. I’ll go after Louise.”

  “No, I have to come with you.”

  “How will you do that, if you cannot walk?”

  “She’s my wife!”

  “Rob, be reasonable.”

  “I… damn!”

  “Kristina, will you stay with him?”

  “Me? You are going up alone?”

  “I won’t be alone, Louise is there.”

  “But—”

  “What else do you suggest, Kristina? That we leave her to roam about? Who knows what will happen. She could fall, hurt herself.”

  “Piero—”

  “Tesoro, I know this place, I will find her. Don’t worry.”

  “You’d better find her,” Rob interjected. “You’d bloody better. This is all your fault!”

  “It is not. You wanted to come here!”

  “Please!” It was Kristina. “Don’t argue like little boys! Behave like men.”

  There was a pause and then Rob started speaking again.

  “She was looking at her phone in the laundry room, she seemed… I don’t know, transfixed by it. I went to get her, brought her to stand with us and then she just… ran. Why?”

  “We are wasting time thinking about the reasons why, I need to go after her. Lean on me, I’ll get you to the day room first, or Kristina, can you manage on your own?”

  “I… I don’t think I can, Piero, he’s heavy, we need to be either side of him.”

  “Okay, okay, but hurry, she is getting away.”

  Getting away? He’d said that as though she were a prisoner.

  Breathing deeply, she exhaled long and low through her mouth. Standing beside the broken window, she was reminded it was still raining. The weather hadn’t eased, if anything it had got worse – the rain lashed the walls of the asylum, like hundreds of tiny fists furiously hammering. If she looked outside she’d probably see the mist too, surrounding them, cutting them off. But it’d be empty this time – a natural phenomenon, as Rob had said, not supernatural – its contents expelled and waiting. Now that the others had retreated to the day room, that she knew Rob was being taken care of, she could hear again sounds from upstairs, soft sounds, whispering, but somehow more real than those that had come from downstairs. She imagined shapes and shadows – so many of them – huddled in clusters and speculating about the newcomer. There were footsteps too. Not running this time, but a careful pacing, each step measured; a certain number one way and the same amount back, no more, no less, with the repetition giving whoever was responsible for it a degree of comfort perhaps. She started to move again, climbing the next flight of stairs.

  So it was Piero who was to come after her was it? Just him. Piero, who’d been here before, who knew the layout, but never at night, because no one stayed overnight. No one dared. But she’d got a head start at least; the veiled lady had seen to that – in stopping Rob, she’d stopped them all. Except Louise of course, she’d been allowed passage. And there she was, the veiled lady, in the distance, waiting, always waiting. Follow me.

  “I’m coming,” Louise replied, entering the asylum proper.

  Part Four

  Home

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It’s easy to hide in Poveglia. Like the alleys of Venice, the corridors of the asylum twist and turn, some leading nowhere, but others much more manipulative than that and drawing you in… always in. Perhaps you’ll reach its centre, perhaps there isn’t one; you might find your way out, or remain lost. So many, thought Louise, remained lost.

  Reaching the landing, she passed the rooms Piero had taken them to earlier – the female wards. There was slight movement from within and she turned towards it to see the shapes she’d previously imagined, a whole host of them, filling the void. Outside another ward she faltered. Again there were shapes within, no more than mere outlines, barely distinct from the darkness, but one of them, a woman, with hair that hung in strands and wearing a loose shift, was more in focus. She was the one pacing back and forth, her head bent low, counting each and every step – reciting the numbers as though they were a litany.

  Follow me.

  There was no time to stand and stare. Piero would catch her if she did. She turned into another corridor, not the one she’d been in earlier with Piero and Kristina; this one was located at the far end of the main building rather than in the middle. Although different, it too had jagged cracks in the plaster that threatened to gape open like the widest of mouths, eager for sustenance. Up ahead was constant darkness, the torch on her phone unable to penetrate it. All it contained was the veiled lady. She was beacon enough.

  “Where are you taking me?” Louise called out.

  There was no reply. She hadn’t expected one.

  She came to a flight of stairs leading downwards. Is that where she had to go? Before descending, she turned around – sure she could hear footsteps, not immediately behind but some way off and getting closer. Piero?

  Her hand reaching out, she grabbed hold of the cold iron railing and forced one foot in front of the other. The stairs led back to the ground floor, but an area far beyond the recreation rooms. She shook her head. From the outside, the building looked as if it would be straightforward to navigate, but inside it was all too easy to imagine it as a web instead of a vast set of rooms, many of which were secreted away, hidden from the world as much as the patients that used to occupy them. When Piero had led them towards the high security wing, she half suspected they were in the building to the left. Now, she wondered if she was in the other building, the one to the right, close to the bell tower.

  Another noise made her jump: a clap of thunder.

  It’s just the weather, that’s all, just the weather.

  But her heart was racing, the dark as well as the walls claustrophobic. Instead of being mesmerised by the veiled lady, she had a moment of clarity – the thunder responsible perhaps for returning her to a state of full consciousness. What was she doing? What the hell was she doing, chasing an apparition? Venturing down dark hallways that could be dangerous for a whole variety of reasons… practical reasons. It was madness. Utter madness. She’d been infected; the insanity of others long gone wrapping itself around her like a comfort blanket. Her mind sharpened further. That was it! That was definitely it. She’d found the madness comforting because in it fear had subsided. But now it returned, fear for herself and fear for the others. She should go back, she had to go back. Rob had been hurt, she had no idea how badly. He and Kristina were in one of the day rooms in the main building, one of the rooms they’d been in before perhaps, the one with the empty chairs. What if they weren’t empty anymore? What if the shadows upstairs had crept downstairs, and some, like the pacing woman, had become more solid?

  Follow me.

  Those words! They kept going round and round in her head – as much a litany as the pacing woman’s counting. Not just an instruction but also a command. What would happen if she disobeyed? If she turned her back? If she simply refused? Rob – his face was before her, every contour and every line – the man she said she hated, who she blamed for everything, for her failures as well as his. Did she really hate him? Of course not! She missed him. Missed them. How happy they once were, before discontent had set in, and bitterness, and anger – anger that had resulted in them coming to this island. If she hadn’t lost her temper, if she hadn’t hit him, if she hadn’t felt the need to make reparation…

  Reparation?

  Her breath hitched. That wasn’t a word she’d normally use, but it had materialised as vividly as Rob’s face had – reparation, amends. They’d argued and she’d had to make amends. Was it significant? Did the veiled lady have to make amends too?

  “What do you want from me?”

  She was surprised at how much effort it took to voice those words. But she had to find out who this woman was, what she was, and why she�
��d targeted Louise.

  “I’m not taking another step until you tell me.”

  Could a ghost communicate with a living being? Was it possible? Because that’s what she was, this figure that was haunting her – someone long dead, a spirit. Could it talk?

  The veiled lady was still so far ahead. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t risen to the challenge.

  “Fuck you,” Louise spat, anger dominating again. Not just because of the ghost’s insistent mysteriousness, but for so many reasons. For not seeing the bigger picture where she and Rob were concerned; for not being grateful for having each other; for every day that they lived in freedom, glorious, taken-for-granted freedom. With Piero and Kristina too, for bringing her here in the first place, for losing the key, for making her see things. Not the apparitions, but that her anger at the injustice life had dealt her was perhaps… unjustified. Because Poveglia – the building she was standing in and the island itself – defined injustice. Those who’d been confined here, their liberty taken from them due to illness, be it physical or mental, and then mistreated, abused, murdered even, to rot in graves without names, forgotten by those who considered themselves sane, who’d once professed to love them, was the greatest injustice of all. In comparison, hers paled into insignificance. Although she’d come to recognise this, she wasn’t ready to accept it, not yet, not when it had torn her apart, when it had driven her towards madness too.

  Another clap of thunder sounded overhead, much louder than the last. She turned her back on the veiled lady and, facing the way she’d just come, held her phone up and shone the torch, ready to retrace her footsteps, to find her way to the main building again, bypassing the wards if she could. If she couldn’t, she’d refuse to look inside.

  Lifting her hand higher, it was a step back she took, then another and another, her eyes widening in horror. The shadows, the shapes, those that had been upstairs, were now in front of her. They were crowding the narrow space, blocking her path. She blinked rapidly, stared again, tried to convince herself it wasn’t real, but it was all too real, their silence more menacing than any scream or whisper could ever be. There was simply no way back. This was proof of it. They wouldn’t let her – the veiled lady and her charges – not now they had her. She thought of continuing anyway, of barging her way through them. There was no substance to them, so what could they do? If she refused to be frightened, if she kept her eyes shut, there’d be a chance… surely there’d be a chance…

  She put her plan into action and recoiled at the clamour as her foot knocked something over. She looked to see what it was: bones, a pile of them. Freshly dug bones with dank earth still clinging to them. She was trapped, as surely as any of those who’d been incarcerated here had been trapped – as those in front of her. They’d been trapped too and still were. She nodded her understanding. She wouldn’t try and reach Rob, not just yet, or even Piero. Was he still chasing after her? Did she have a hope of being found? All she could do was pray that what little rationale she had left wouldn’t desert her; that at some point she’d be able to do what she wanted so badly to do: go home. Just go home.

  Certain that the crowd before her were edging even closer, that they’d reach out and touch her if she remained defiantly still – their hands stopping her heart from taking another beat – she faced the veiled lady again and continued onwards.

  Chapter Thirty

  She walked as if in a haze, her mind perhaps not losing its grip but certainly trying to shut down, to protect her as much as possible. From somewhere far behind she could hear her name being called – Louise, Louise. Piero hadn’t given up, despite having to continue his search for her alone. Perhaps his sense of responsibility was well developed – a point in his favour if she could bring herself to think charitably of him. So what? Let him call her. Let him strain his throat yelling. Right now she knew it was in vain.

  Another noise caught her attention: a door banging repeatedly, as if someone was standing beside it, opening it and closing it. Maybe they were, or it could be the wind, snaking its way inside and finding a playmate. Did the mind ever stop searching for logic? Either way, it was too far off to worry about. All the rooms she was passing – some doors closed, others with no doors at all – contained an energy. Although she refused to look, she had no doubt about it – the asylum was wide-awake. The weather seemed only to mourn that fact – continuing to beat at the walls in protest. Bypassing a window, a flash of lightening signalled more thunder to come. The brief illumination caught her eye. Half-expecting there to be figures outside, she saw only towering trees, bunched together, either in a gesture of defence against what was still on this island, or as protection, guarding what lay beneath. Secrets. That’s what lay beneath. The island was full of them; secret lives and secret tragedies, layer upon layer upon layer. And lies too. Dr Gritti was the Father of Lies – a pseudonym for the devil, but appropriate, because that’s what he was, the devil incarnate. Abusing his profession, his position of trust, experimenting on patients for the purpose of vainglory, then burying their spent bodies in unmarked graves, from which the bones were now being extracted – the dead rising in more ways than one.

  “I hope you’re the one to rot in hell, Dr Gritti.” Although her voice was a low whisper, she was surprised at the venom it contained. Did the burning hatred she felt towards him belong to her or to the veiled lady? Did it matter? He deserved to be hated, to burn.

  And he will, he will.

  More words, being written in her mind.

  Keep walking. That thought was hers at least. Get this over with.

  As she turned another corner, coldness seized her; different to the cold she was used to. This was able to penetrate, to worm its way deep inside, treading the pathways that led to the very centre of her. It was a dangerous cold, growing claws and squeezing the life from her, but before that, it would feed voraciously.

  Follow me!

  The words were urgent, more than before – but an urgency borne of what? Was the veiled lady afraid of something? Could this new presence – this coldness – harm her too?

  Louise looked behind her, expecting to see a multitude of spirits following still. There was nothing but darkness – the doors she’d passed, and the windows, none of them were visible anymore. She stared, willing her eyes to adjust, finally noticing something, some kind of movement. Was it Piero? No, it couldn’t be. This thing was writhing, even darker than the blackness and it was cold, so damned cold.

  Not wanting to fall into its clutches, she turned back round and her heart almost stopped. The veiled lady was no longer in the distance. She was standing in front of her. There was barely a foot between them. But for once, she was looking beyond Louise, those veiled eyes boring deep, as deep as the cold ever could. Louise swallowed, felt helpless. She was caught between them – the two warring factions – like a pawn in a battle she didn’t understand. Tears sprang to her eyes. I just want to go home.

  FOLLOW ME!

  Silent words but she could hear them well enough. They were screamed at her, causing her entire body to jerk. She screwed her eyes shut against the sensation but couldn’t stay that way for long. Someone was tugging at her hands, pulling her along, forcing her to move. She had to look, to see what was happening – if it was the veiled lady responsible. But there was no one there – at least no one she could see and the veiled lady was in the distance again. All that was close was the thing behind her, coming closer. As it did, an overpowering stench caused her to retch – the scent of a charnel house, she imagined, the reek of death. Snatching her hands back from whatever it was that held them, she raised one to cover her nose and ran, not needing to be pulled anymore, propelling herself well enough down the corridor, the endless corridor. How long could it go on for? In a nightmare, she supposed, forever. And that’s what this was. A nightmare. In it there were no rules, no limits, and no boundaries. She was in the domain of the dead, at their mercy.

  Whatever was behind her – the cold, dark thing – had picked
up speed too. She didn’t want it to touch her. If it did it would drive her all the way into madness.

  “Help me!” Her voice was as cracked as the windowpane she’d glanced out of earlier. Who she was appealing to she didn’t know. The veiled lady? Piero? God? But this place is Godforsaken, that’s what you said. She had, but still she found herself hoping.

  There was another door banging. Was it the same one she’d heard before? If so, she hadn’t come as far as she thought, although it seemed like she’d journeyed for miles and miles, had been apart from the others for hours, or more than that… a lifetime.

  The asylum does that. It distorts everything.

  Was that her or the veiled lady?

  It’s a world within a world.

  Yes it was. A world between worlds, even.

  It’s a nightmare.

  One she couldn’t wake from.

  It’s hell.

  And always had been.

  The door was close now, so close. Should she go in? Is that what the banging indicated? And if not, what was the alternative? Soon she’d be trapped, her back against the wall with nowhere further to run. What was behind her could then feast as much it liked, she’d be powerless to prevent it – its quarry cornered. Keeping the phone’s torch shining ahead she hurled herself into the room. Louder than any thunder, the door banged shut. If she was wrong about this being a sanctuary, there was nothing more she could do about it. The decision had been made. She spun round, half expecting the door to cave in, with what was outside to smash its way through, to claim her. But it remained rigid… for now.

  Standing still, she shone the torch around the walls, trying to make sense of where she was: a room, a window on the side wall, with bars across it, some of them intact, some broken. This was a prison that doubled as a home. She was drawn towards the window, and, as she walked, there was a rustling beneath her feet. She shone the torch down, she was walking on pages she realised, pages torn from books, countless books, as if they’d been ripped from their spines in a fury and thrown around. The room was covered in them, half an inch thick in places, forming some kind of curious carpet. She checked the walls again, yet there was nothing on them, no graffiti, no writing. Instead they were relentlessly bare, and above, a cord hung noose-like from the ceiling, all that remained of a light fitting.