This Haunted World Book One: The Venetian: A Chilling New Supernatural Thriller by Shani Struthers Read Free Book Online Page A

reached it quite effortlessly, they wove in and out of doorways much as they’d weaved in previously empty lanes. There were brand names she recognised, including a clutch of designer boutiques, Italian of course, Prada, Gucci, Fendi, the wares on display sumptuous as well as very, very expensive. Giving them a wide berth, Louise stopped in front of a shop selling traditional Venetian masks, pulled in by their jewel-like colours and intricate designs. Some were light and pretty, able to make even the plainest of faces stunning, others much darker, with plumes of black feathers surrounding them and skull-like details. Studying them, she realised various materials were used to fashion the masks, including leather, glass and porcelain.
    One mask, although tucked away in the corner of the otherwise busy window display, stood out – it was so different from the others. Not a thing of beauty, it looked to be made from bone, although that couldn’t be, its ivory-coloured beak long and protruding, circles cut away for the eyes and rimmed in black. She knew what this was: a plague mask, the kind a medieval Venetian doctor would wear, the one she’d seen on that webpage she’d been looking at. Staring at it, she felt as cold as bone too.
    “Rob,” she called out. She was going to suggest they find another bar, one that was warm, dry and inviting this time, either that or go back to the hotel, have a hot shower and perhaps indulge in a little afternoon delight before heading out to eat. Whatever they decided to do, she just wanted to get away from this shop, from the masks on display in the window, and from one mask in particular. “Rob,” she called again, turning her head to see an empty space beside her, and beyond that, just a sea of people.
    Turning in a half circle, her eyes continued to seek Rob out. Where was he? Had he gone into the shop selling the masks? If so, why hadn’t he told her? Despite not wanting to, she walked to the shop’s entrance, pushed the door open and poked her head inside.
    “ Ciao , welcome, come in, come in,” a voice beckoned.
    “No, it’s okay, I’m just seeing if my husband’s in here.” She hadn’t a clue if she’d be understood or not, but rather than stare at the elderly assistant, she looked around her. Like the window display it was crammed with masks, hundreds and hundreds of them, thousands even – on walls, on tables, hanging from the ceiling. There were more plague masks too, not so apologetically on display, almost proudly presented, a centrepiece.
    The man was standing behind a desk so big it swamped him. For some reason he agitated her as much as the masks did, with his wrinkled skin and eager eyes, black rimmed like the mask in the window. His nose was long and hooked too, but more than that it was his manner that disturbed her. He seemed greedy for her custom.
    “Come in, come in,” he repeated, bending his finger to entice her.
    “I—”
    “Masks, pretty masks, come in and choose one.”
    Did his eyes dart towards the plague masks as he said that? What on earth would she want with one of them? They weren’t pretty, they were hideous, and not the kind of souvenir you’d want to proudly display on your return home – the damned thing would cause nightmares. The entire shop she found hideous as well as the concept of masks full stop, hiding what you really were – your true nature – fooling you.
    She wouldn’t go any further in. Rob wasn’t here anyway.
    “Sorry, excuse me.”
    Before he could answer her, try and persuade her to stay, to lure her in, she backed out, closed the door on his peculiar world and stepped into the rain once again.
    “Rob!” she continued calling but he was nowhere.
    Although it was cold and damp she began to feel hot and sweaty as the realisation hit that she was a stranger in a strange place.
    Where the fuck are you?
    Anger emerged – anger at life, and the unfairness of it. It was always there, simmering, waiting to boil