Whispering Bones

by Rita Vetere

  She heard loud footsteps and the voices of men. The sound of tinkling bells grew louder, accompanied by the heavy footfall of whoever had entered her home. When a tall, dark figure arrived next to her bed and gloved hands reached for her, fear such as she had never known pushed its way past the pain into her consciousness.

  Rough hands yanked her from the bed. Through swollen eyes she glimpsed the white mask with the eyes cut out, the hooked nose hovering over her face like the beak of some deadly bird. The pizzicamorti, her worst nightmare, had arrived.

  The room spun madly as the man transported her shivering, fevered body out of the house. Isabella called out, but with the painful sores inside her throat, she only managed to croak, the sound drowned out by the strident voices of the men. She closed her eyes against the vertigo and nausea rolling through her each time the monster bearing her took a step. Then, a rush of cool air hit her burning skin—sweet, fresh air that she breathed in greedily. A second later, she was airborne. She landed on something soft but, even so, the impact sent stunning pain crashing through her, so immense it took her breath away.

  Her head lolled to one side. She opened her eyes to stare into the disfigured, dead face of her mother, and beyond that, something that defied all comprehension, something that sent a wave of shock coursing through her—a sea of disjointed limbs, open and unseeing eyes, putrid and decomposing faces of the dead. As the cart began to lumber forward, understanding entered her feeble consciousness. She was lying on a bed of rotting corpses, being transported to...where? She opened her mouth and cried out, louder this time, but the cart did not stop. The rumbling of the wheels sounded like thunder.

  Her mind formed a single thought before she passed out: Let me die.

  * * * *

  A blue and cloudless sky above. The familiar rise-and-fall sensation of being on the water, like when Papa took her out on the boat. The smell of the sea.

  Fresh agony rolled through her as the dreadful masked figure at the bow of the vessel bore down on the long pole, propelling them forward. The thought flitted across her mind that they must be travelling to the Lazaretto, where those found alive in the pest houses were taken. Her fevered lips formed the barest hint of a smile as she thought of Roberto. Dear Roberto, who might yet be alive. Perhaps she would see him soon. The thought sent a spark of hope coursing through her, and Isabella’s lips moved in silent prayer. She prayed for forgiveness from God for having doubted him. God, in his mercy, had chosen to save her after all.

  A rasping sound as the vessel scraped up against something. Isabella awoke to the smell and feel of the rotted flesh upon which she was lying. Bile rose to her throat, preventing her from uttering a sound. Through the slits that were her eyes, she could see the strands of clotted blood that dribbled from her mouth and landed on her arm.

  A stone wall next to the boat towered above her—a landing. They had arrived at the Lazaretto. Hope surged in her again. Even if she died, there was the possibility Roberto might be here, that she would see her brother once more before leaving this world.

  The pizzicamorti moved quickly, tying off the barge. Two of the masked men took their places on the landing to receive the corpses, which the others began to offload. Isabella closed her eyes against the sight of the bodies being tossed carelessly from the boat, afraid she would witness her parents’ corpses being treated like so much garbage. Suddenly, she was lifted and passed into the hands of one of the men on the landing. The masked face was terrifyingly close to her own, but she summoned what was left of her strength and finally managed to speak in a weak voice.

  “How far...to the Lazaretto?”

  She felt the man holding her jump when she spoke.

  “Ma, questa e anchora viva... Tomaso. This one’s still alive.”

  She heard a muttered curse from one of the men on the boat. “What are you talking about?”

  “The girl. She’s still alive, Tomaso.”

  “She’s as dead as the others—put her in with the rest.”

  The next thing she knew, she was tossed onto a wheeled contraption among a pile of stinking corpses. “No... No...” She tried to protest, but the intense pain running through her from being so carelessly handled stopped the words in her throat. It was all she could do to keep breathing.

  The cart bumped along the uneven ground, causing more pain to course through her every time the wheels ran up against a stone, and she could only moan softly. When, moments later, the cart came to a stop, Isabella turned her head. At first she could not make sense of what she saw. The ground seemed so far away. Why? She looked around and understood: an excavation in the ground. A pit... An enormous pit, already half-filled with what looked like hundreds of disease-ridden corpses.

  Her mind reeled at the terrifying sight. One of the pizzicamorti spoke. She recognized the voice as belonging to the man who had cursed earlier.

  “Let’s get on with it. It’s the last load. I want to get back.”

  The men began emptying the cart of its gruesome cargo, jostling her. Terrified, she listened to the sickening thuds as corpses were thrown into the pit, colliding with the bodies already there. Suddenly, shockingly, Isabella was lifted up. “No... No!” She felt herself falling. Then, the blinding pain of impact as she landed among the dead.

  The stench, the slimy feel of rotten flesh... Death surrounded her. More bodies landed beside her, on top of her. Panicked, she screamed, “Take me to the Lazaretto... please! It cannot be far, I beg you.”

  The cloaked and masked monster towering above the pit said as he grabbed a shovel, “There is no place at the Lazaretto for the sick any longer. It already overflows with the dead and dying. You have been brought to Poveglia.”

  Isabella moaned in despair. Poveglia was a disposal site, nothing more.

  The other man spoke. “Tomaso... We could try on our way back to the mainland. Perhaps the Lazaretto will take her. She is but a child—”

  “Shut up. I’ve no intention of stopping there, only to be turned away. Then what? Return here to do what we should have done in the first place? No. Look at her. She is already dead.”

  The cruel words struck Isabella like stones. Although close to death, a smoldering rage began to build inside her. She looked up at the pizzicamorti, leaning on their shovels at the pit’s edge. Her gaze slid back and forth between the two men and came to rest on the dark form of the man who had refused to help her.

  In that moment, something happened.

  Her delirious mind cleared. For a split second, Isabella perceived her situation with complete lucidity. She could surrender herself to God’s will. Accept her fate, knowing her immortal soul would soon be reunited with Mamma and Papa in the afterlife. Or she could choose another, darker path—one which had opened before her as a result of this outrage. Isabella heard a sinister whisper. Take revenge. The callous man showed no mercy, no remorse for what he was about to do. She could go unforgiving into the darkness, her soul be damned.

  Perhaps if the evil man had not chosen that exact moment to fill his spade and send a shower of dirt over her; perhaps if he had not acted at that precise second, Isabella might have followed the path of light. Perhaps. But the man made his choice and Isabella made hers. She opened and allowed the dark entity which had spoken to her to slither inside.

  When the earth struck her open sores, Isabella’s rage exploded. A powerful force surged in her, a roiling, dark energy that breathed life into her once again. Lifting her head, she spoke directly to the man, the one called Tomaso, who had condemned her to be buried alive.

  “A curse on you...and on your house... You will be made to pay for this deed... With a death worse than that which you have decreed for me... All of you. Until the very last...perishes.”

  Isabella fell back onto her deathbed. The knowledge dawned that she had only been a vessel for the dark power which had risen in her, causing her to speak the words. She found she did not care. A cold satisfaction took hold of her when she saw the masked man hesitate befor
e lifting his spade again. For a moment, instead of the stink of corpses surrounding her, she smelled only his fear. Suddenly, spade after spade of earth rained down on her as the man began to rapidly shovel. He carried out his execution, cursing as he buried Isabella alive.

  Isabella could no longer move. Layer after layer of dirt covered her. It entered her nostrils when she tried to breath. It covered her open eyes, blinding her. Earth filled her mouth. It tasted like death, but her heart was cold now and she welcomed it.

  Chapter 11

  Venice, Italy

  Present Day

  Anna made her way back along the path to the landing. She intended to have a complete photographic record of the entire island to take home with her. After snapping several shots to capture the water views, she turned and took some pictures of the existing structures. This was where the hotel was to be constructed, roughly where the old hospital stood. Her photos of the complex would provide a handy frame of reference. The bell tower, she thought, was quite lovely, tall and rectangular, with arched openings near the top where the bell rested. Except, she realized, looking through the camera lens, there was no bell. Most likely it had been removed after the place closed down. She zoomed in on the top of the tower and photographed it.

  As she passed by the main doors of the old hospital, she stopped and, on impulse, climbed the steps and pushed against the doors to see if they would open. They were locked. She turned and continued back along the path, taking pictures of the vine-covered building as she went. When she got to what she now knew had been the crematorium, she gave the open door a wide berth. She certainly didn’t want to go back in there again. She quickly snapped a few shots of the exterior and moved on.

  At the last structure, the one nearest the field and the construction trailer, she remembered having seen a desk and other furniture through the window earlier and her curiosity got the better of her. She tried the heavy wooden door and it swung open on creaking hinges. Anna stepped across the threshold into the single room inside.

  Layers of grime covered the stone floor and the furniture, which appeared to be expensive antiques. Dust motes danced in the grey light pouring through the yellowed windows running along the walls. The place must have been an office. An old-fashioned mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, with a seating arrangement off to one side. Bookshelves lined the walls, holding dusty, leather-bound volumes. A hand-carved bed rested in the far right corner. How odd. Why would such fine furniture have been left behind after the place closed down? Perhaps it had proven too cumbersome to transport it back to the mainland. Still, it struck her as unusual.

  Anna moved to the large desk in the center of the room and picked up a framed photograph resting on it. She blew some of the dust off and wiped the glass with the bottom of her shirt to have a better look. A stern-looking man peered back at her. He wore round spectacles and stood ramrod-straight next to a lovely young woman and two children. The clothing worn by the group in the photo told her the image had been taken in the nineteen twenties or thirties—at any rate, before the forties, judging from the woman’s hairstyle and dress. She looked again at the woman in the photograph. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. Anna thought she resembled Mary Pickford, the early screen starlet.

  She replaced the framed picture on the desk and moved to the bookshelves. All the old volumes appeared to be medical books. The office must have belonged to a doctor, not a hospital administrator as she’d first thought. A closer inspection of the titles revealed the subject matter dealt almost exclusively with theories and diagnosis of mental illness. Had the hospital actually been an asylum? That would explain the reinforced glass in the windows of the main building. She made a mental note to ask Falcone about it next time they met.

  Anna wanted to continue her exploration of the old office, but knew she was wasting precious time in here. Reluctantly, she left, closing the door behind her. After photographing the office exterior, she turned toward the open field beyond the construction trailer and waded into the heavy underbrush, grateful she had packed her sturdy hiking boots and jeans. The brambles went past her knees in some places and would have ripped any uncovered skin to shreds. She worked her way through the brush to approximately the middle of the field where a boulder poked up through the growth.

  Sitting on the large rock, she intended to take photos of the circumference of the field from her central position. Alejandro was nowhere in sight. He must have started setting up his equipment at the north end of the island, on the other side of the grove of poplar trees backing onto the field.

  As she looked around, the absolute silence of the place struck her anew. There she sat, surrounded by trees, bushes, all manner of greenery, yet no sound penetrated the air. The eerie stillness, the absence of the sounds of nature unsettled her, and more than just a little. Where were the birds, and the other animals one would expect to see and hear? For that matter, she’d not yet even spotted a single insect—no spiders, not even an ant. The place felt so barren, despite the lush vegetation, as if everything on the island was...

  D ead.

  The word popped unbidden into her head and the peculiar thought sent gooseflesh rippling along her bare arms. The memory of her nightmare suddenly returned. The image of the dead child burned brightly in her mind, causing her to shudder.

  The bruised sky overhead threatened rain and she told herself to hurry and finish with the photos, but the camera remained in her hand, unused. A strange lethargy snaked through her, making it hard to move. Her eyelids became heavy. The tall grass nodded all around her. She gave her head a shake, but the desire to close her eyes and sleep became overwhelming. The camera slid from her hand and landed in the bushes at her feet. Her eyelids drooped. No matter how hard she tried, she could not seem to stay awake. What’s happening to—

  * * * *

  Anna came to with a start, lying flat on her back, surrounded by tangled vines and bushes, and staring up at the sky. Disoriented, she tried to remember what had happened. She’d been in the field, sitting on the rock, about to take photographs of the area when... What? Somehow, she had managed to fall asleep in the field.

  She got on her hands and knees, feeling around on the ground for her camera, and found it next to the base of the rock. At ground level, she could see the front of the rock was smooth. Lettering had been etched onto it but, eroded by the passage of time and the elements, it was no longer legible. Looking at the marker made her uneasy. More than uneasy. For some reason, it made her afraid. This field, the entire island in fact, suddenly felt oppressive.

  She got to her feet, glanced at her watch and almost jumped in surprise. It was after six o’clock already. That meant she’d been lying in the field for, what, three hours? That was impossible... She couldn’t have been out for so long. But her watch appeared to be working and she noticed the thin afternoon light had faded considerably.

  She was about to head back to the construction trailer when she glimpsed something moving in the trees beyond the field.

  “Alejandro?”

  Her voice echoed back to her.

  “Alejandro, is that—”

  The apparition stepped out from behind one of the trees nearest the field, and Anna’s heart landed in her throat, blocking her scream. It was the thing from the night before.

  She took in the tattered dress, the diseased flesh, the decaying face, and—a child, it’s a child, and it’s dead.

  She watched in disbelief as the apparition’s rotting mouth widened into a hideous parody of a grin, its filmy black eyes trained directly on her. Icy terror shot through her; her heart clenched and then began to pound madly.

  Anna turned and ran. Moving through the heavy brush was like trying to run underwater. She willed her leaden legs to move faster, but tripped on a vine and went down, cutting her bare arms on the thorny brambles. Clawing her way to her feet, she glanced over her shoulder in panic, convinced the nightmarish apparition was chasing her.

  There was nothing
there.

  “Anna.”

  She snapped her head around to come face-to-face with Alejandro.

  “What happened to you? I was in the trailer when I heard you call.” He looked at the scratches on her arms. “Are you hurt? I saw you fall. What were you running from?”

  “I—”

  Anna turned to look once again at the trees. Not a leaf rustled in the still air.

  “I… Nothing. I don’t know, I thought I saw something moving in the trees, but...”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. No, I’m fine.”

  Alejandro continued to stare at her, obviously concerned. “You’re shaking. Tell me what frightened you.”

  How could she possibly explain what she had seen? The dreadful grin on the ruined face of the dead child rose in her mind and panic took another bite out of her. She had to get a grip before she lost it completely.

  “I, I don’t know,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at the forest. “Maybe it was an animal,” she lied. “I’m fine. Really.”

  They returned to the construction trailer, where Alejandro located his portable first aid kit and disinfected the scratches on her arms. She did her best to appear normal, even though what just happened had left her badly shaken. Alejandro must have seen through her act because, as he tended to her cuts, he asked more than once if she was all right.

  “I’m okay. The heat must have gotten to me, I just got dizzy. That’s why I fell.”

  A few minutes later, they gathered their things, leaving behind the equipment they would need again the following day, and headed back to the landing to await the arrival of the water taxi.

  The first drops of rain began to fall just as they reached the stone steps. In the distance, she spotted a boat moving rapidly toward them. Moments later, the water taxi pulled up to the landing at the foot of the stairs. Anna smiled weakly at Alejandro when he said, “Right on time. C’mon, let’s get out of the rain.”