This Haunted World Book One: The Venetian: A Chilling New Supernatural Thriller (13 page)

“No.” All fight left him. It had been so fleeting. “I planned nothing.”

“So it’s for the sake of ambition that you’ll kill me?”

Dr Gritti roared with laughter, a sound that hurt her ears. “We have no intention of killing you, Charlotte! You too are suffering from hysteria. Contrary to what you think, we are not murderers, we are pioneers.” He paused briefly. “Although accidents of course happen when trying to achieve great things, and so many of them. It is unfortunate, I agree. No, we will not murder you. Such a notion! We will do what we do with the other patients. We will
treat
you. Only if you break rank will we take more drastic measures, and a part of you, deep down, will understand that well enough. Comply, however, and there is nothing to fear. You will live, I am sure, to a grand old age on the island.”

So, one way or another, they’d get her. She’d die here, on Poveglia, cut off from the rest of civilisation, from her family and her beloved Albert. Enrico had also removed his mask, his normally olive complexion pale. He reached out but only to hold her steady whilst his uncle force-fed whatever drug was in the syringe into her system. As the needle pierced flesh, as consciousness,
true
consciousness began to fade she made one last vow. If Catarina was right about the dead and they were waiting to wreak revenge, she’d lead them. And then she’d leave this island, even if she was dead herself. She’d go home.

Part Three

Poveglia

There was a gentle rhythm to the waters beneath Piero’s boat that lulled her, the effect soporific, compounded by the thick layers of mist that surrounded them. Passing the raggedy stick men again, as she thought of the wooden pilings that rose out of the water to guide the way, Louise felt caught between this world and the next – unsure what was real and what wasn’t. She was in a dream again, although this was a waking dream at least. Last night she’d only realised she’d been dreaming when she’d woken up, the images crowding her mind so vividly and lingering until she’d forced them from her mind. Trembling at the memory, she squeezed Rob’s hand. He squeezed back, adding a quick smile before scanning the horizon. The veiled lady had been in the dream.

There’d been mist too. She was somewhere strange; somewhere she didn’t recognise but, even so, she knew it to be a stark and barren place, the ground beneath her feet soft but not fertile, far from it. She’d been playing a game, a child’s game, even though she wasn’t a child in the dream and neither, it seemed, were the people that surrounded her.

“Spin around, spin around!” The shadow figures were saying, their voices high-pitched and bursting with excitement. “Spin around, spin around!”

At the same time hands were reaching out, twisting her, turning her, ethereal fingers that were cold to the touch. She’d been told to close her eyes, was trying to concentrate, to stop her head from spinning. Suddenly she understood the objective of the ‘game’ – when they finally stopped spinning her, she had to reach out and – still with eyes closed – catch one of them. Then, whomever she caught, it was their turn to stand in the circle, to take her place. She remembered enjoying the game, finding it fun, and then the atmosphere had changed, becoming as cold as the hands that touched her. The voices continued to chant, but their pitch changed too, becoming higher, faster, beginning to grate, to hurt her ears.
Stop it! Stop it!
Despite her irritation, she was determined to make it to the end of the game and then, abruptly, all voices had died away, hands had stopped clawing. Did this mean she could stop, lunge forward and catch the next victim? Relief had surged through her; she’d even smiled. Taking a few steps, she started grabbing, arms waving randomly in front of her, grasping nothing but thin air, big armfuls of it.
Slippery as eels, but I’ll catch them. I’ll catch someone
. But still the others in the game proved elusive. How much longer should she keep this up? She was getting tired, so tired, which struck her as odd: how could you be tired when you were already asleep? She’d give it just a short while longer; try to be a sport about it.

“Hello, is anyone there? Let me know if you are. That I’m not alone.”

She was met with silence – a wall of it. Had her playmates abandoned her? She stopped searching and came to a standstill. God, it was arctic, the very air she breathed solidifying around her. She was going to have to open her eyes and ruin the game. But she had no choice. It needed to come to an end anyway. It had gone on too long. Before she could change her mind, her eyelids sprang open and that was when she’d seen her, the veiled lady standing close, so close, ready to claim her…

“Oh shit!”

Rob turned, a look of surprise on his face. “What’s the matter, Lou, do you feel sick?”

“No, no. I… I was remembering that’s all, something I saw in a dream last night.”

And it had just been in the dream she’d seen her – just the dream. How often had she had to remind herself of that this morning? When she’d opened her eyes for real there’d been no one in the room but the two of them, no sound but that of Rob’s gentle snoring.

“Yeah, you were thrashing around a bit. Woke me up a couple of times. You were murmuring too. Was it a nightmare? Must have been. All that drink and…” he paused, looked away but only briefly, “I don’t suppose the argument helped either.”

She was amazed. He never normally acknowledged their arguments – once cross words were over between them they were never referred to again, and she’d learnt long ago not to press him either, as it got her nowhere, and only led to a fresh argument. Strangely, the fact that he was acknowledging their argument now embarrassed her. She still felt terrible about how she’d laid into him, blaming him for everything, telling him she hated him, hitting him across the face; something she’d never done before. She’d lost control. She couldn’t bear to think of the hurt in his eyes, felt so ashamed about it. But she’d gone someway to redeeming things hadn’t she? She’d agreed to this at least.

Looking at Rob, he clearly expected some sort of response. “You’re right, the argument didn’t help. I’m so sorry, I don’t want us to argue again.”

He shrugged. “We’re going to argue, Lou, it’s inevitable, couples always do, but yeah, let’s make more of an effort to chill out in future, both of us.”

She could only agree.

Piero and Kristina were sitting in front, Piero steering the boat. He turned his head round to speak to them. “The mist will clear soon, the sun will burn a hole through it.”

His wife nodded sagely as though he were speaking the words of a prophet. Louise didn’t have as much faith but she nodded too. They were only trying to be kind. Even so, she couldn’t help but wish they’d never gone to that restaurant again last night; had never met the people in front of her; that the question of visiting Poveglia hadn’t arisen. But Rob seemed excited, that was the main thing. He’d been thrilled when she’d told him this morning that she’d texted Piero and that he’d replied back, saying the trip was on. He’d even leant across and kissed her – a ‘make-up’ kiss, tentative as opposed to passionate, but something to show they were on the mend, that another storm had been weathered.

Continuing to glide, leaving one island behind to encounter another, she looked at her watch. It was noon. If the sun were going to burn through the mist surely it would have done so by now? She found herself praying for sunshine, even though she hadn’t seen any so far this weekend. The island wouldn’t seem so frightening in the brightness of day. She rolled her eyes.
It’s not frightening anyway!
But the thought had no impact. The veiled lady might be a figment of her imagination but she’d succeeded in unnerving her.
Venice
had unnerved her, and now Poveglia. She never thought she’d think it, not considering how much she’d wanted to come to this part of the world, but she was looking forward to returning home in the morning, to normality. Perhaps they’d book a beach holiday next time instead of a city break, head to Ibiza, an island saturated in life not death.

“There you are, can you see it,” asked Piero, “the bell tower?”

Despite the mist, they could. It was not an unattractive structure – on the contrary, it was even more impressive than when she’d seen it in photos. Tall yet elegant, and with a legend attached to it, a legend she’d read about and which Piero elaborated on.

“They say that one of the island’s doctors jumped to his death from that tower,” he told them, “the ghosts of so many dead rising up and compelling him to do it. The legend is that he was complicit in employing… erm…how do you say it,
immoral
methods when treating his patients. He used to experiment on them, torture them even; show them no mercy. The people that died, his patients, wanted revenge.” He laughed suddenly, as if highly amused. “Ah, the rumours, there are so many here who want revenge apparently, both victims of the plague
and
the asylum. After his suicide, the bell tower was bricked up, and it remains that way to this day. That’s one building we won’t be able to visit.”

Rob was grinning too, loving the spooky story. Kristina, meanwhile, was gazing at the tower, a strange look on her face. Was she awestruck, Louise wondered, despite having seen the bell tower before? If so, she wouldn’t blame her, she was awe-struck too at her first actual sight of the asylum, a row of three buildings, so close to the water’s edge.

“Who put the scaffolding up?” she asked Piero, it was covered in it.

“The government. The building is old, crumbling. It needs to be supported.”

Louise turned back to the asylum. How would she describe it? Ugly? No, not really. She’d seen far worse in her life. Institutional? Perhaps, but then all large buildings used for such purposes had an institutionalised feel about them, it was the nature of the beast.

As Piero moored the boat, she felt nervous again. The atmosphere was sombre, so subdued. As though the island was lying in wait… but for what? For people to visit, for an injection of life, something to lift it, to erase the sorrow that was so ingrained? Perhaps transforming the buildings into a luxury hotel wouldn’t be such a bad idea, gradually the stigma surrounding the island would start to fade and its history forgotten as a new era took over. But then, as she and Rob had already discussed, who’d want to stay here? Would it only attract more ghouls, but this time of the living variety?

One by one they left the boat. One of the ‘Proibito’ signs was a few feet away. They ignored it. Instead, with a dramatic sweep of his hand, Piero introduced them to the island.

“So, my friends, now you stand on Poveglia, the place where they sent so many plague victims to die throughout the centuries. I am not joking when I say be careful where you walk, there are many graves on the island, mass graves, all unmarked, and why you will find the ground soft beneath your feet. Walk only on the paved areas if you can.”

Rob looked entranced. “So, first it’s a place of quarantine and then an asylum. Piero, how many years was the asylum in use?”

“From 1922 to 1968, Robert. There is a sign somewhere, we can see if we can find it although I remember it as very overgrown –
reparto psichiatria
– the department of psychiatry. The doctor in question whose work was regarded as immoral was Dr Gritti.”

“Was he the one who threw himself from the bell tower?” Louise asked.

“No,” Kristina answered, “that was his assistant, Dr Sanuto.”

“And did they really kill people?”

“Yes,” Kristina frowned as she said it, “I believe it is true that they did. I believe that medical practices during that time were not as regulated as they are now, and that doctors wielded too much power. And look around you,” she insisted. “This is an island, so there is no one to hear you if you scream. The evidence seems to support that Gritti and Sanuto performed lobotomies on their patients, trying to cure their madness; that they used hammers, chisels and hand drills, primitive instruments, sometimes sedating them, sometimes not.” She closed her eyes briefly. “It sickens me to even think that this happened. But they were the ones who went mad because of it. Dr Sanuto threw himself off the bell tower in the early 1940s, but Dr Gritti committed suicide too, some years later, slitting his own throat whilst in theatre, in the act of performing on yet another poor patient. Such a grisly act and one he committed I think because his guilt finally drove him to it.”

Louise was shocked, even Rob looked horrified, how awful if it was true.

“What about the doctors and nurses that came after them?” Louise asked, still curious despite herself. “Were any of them controversial?”

Kristina shook her head. “All I know is that afterwards doctors and nurses came and went. No one stayed long. Except the patients of course.”

Of course the patients stayed, they had no choice in the matter.

Louise took a deep breath. Again she felt a sense of deep foreboding, wanted to leave, to escape. The stories the Benvenutis were relating were unnerving her as much as the veiled lady. But she was in the minority. No one had any intention of leaving. She had a few hours to endure yet, but thankfully only daylight hours. And then tonight, ah tonight, she’d make sure she and Rob enjoyed themselves, had a good meal and some fine wine – they’d have earned it. Their final night in Venice would be one to remember. Still wishing the mist would clear and not enclose them quite so greedily, but buoyed by thoughts of later at least, she was keen to get the expedition underway.

“Let’s start exploring,” she said, the first one amongst them to suggest it.