The Bone Room

By R. L. Gemmill

DECEIVED.  AMBUSHED.  LOST IN TIME.

In 1938, teachers in Malta took a class on a field trip to see the ancient bones of thousands of people in a cave known as the bone room.  The children and their teachers never returned from the cave. For days, screams could be heard all over the island country, but search efforts turned up nothing.

The good news?  This is the official beginning of The Demon Conspiracy Series.
 
The bad news?  It's based on a true story.
 
The Demon Conspiracy Series is a storm of heart-pounding terror, profound mystery, and unforgettable characters.  It is the only Young Adult novel series required by the American Security Administration to post a warning about potential adverse psychological effects on the reader.

READ WITH CAUTION

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Feb 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781456630515

Book preview

Author

Books by R. L. Gemmill

The Demon Conspiracy Series

The Demon Conspiracy

The Doomsday Shroud

Devil’s Bite

The Street Wizard

The Bone Room (Prequel 1)

Doctor Nightmare (COMING SOON)

Dead Data (Prequel 2) (COMING SOON)

When the Dark Comes (COMING SOON)

Dedication

For my friends, acquaintances, former students/parents, coworkers, coaches, and athletes at Poquoson High School, who helped make my 32-year teaching career a fun and complete experience. Bull Islanders, you are the BEST!

For the children and their teachers who were lost in the cave that day and never seen again.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This novel is meant to be a fun and exciting read. I’ve done much of the general research in the series myself, but Stephanie Matzgannis Tench originally collected a lot of the scientific and conspiracy related information. The Malta research that is the basis for this book was totally done by Stephanie, and it was because of her efforts that I was able to put together this story and later link it to The Demon Conspiracy Series. Anyone interested in reading the actual article should check out the August 1940 edition of National Geographic magazine. As always, thank you, Stephanie!

Thank you to award-winning author, Mark Spencer, for his editing expertise, generosity, and constructive comments. Fiction readers should check out his books; they are excellent! Any author who needs professional editing should visit Mark's website at: http://authormarkspencer.com/Writing_Services.html.

A big thanks to the lovely and talented Laima Klavina, artist extraordinaire, for her artwork on the first five book covers. Laima's art is worth checking out at www.amunalaima.com

More thanks go to my beta-readers for the hard work they put into preparing this novel. [Pam Gemmill, Vik Vatsa, and Lauren Osborn. You helped make it right!]

Thanks to Marcie Evans for everything Demon-ish and a whole lot more.

Special thanks to Karol Clark and Dawn Olson for their business knowledge and assistance.

Thank you to Erica Robertson for the great headshot! Contact Erica at https://www.facebook.com/EricaRobertsonPhotography

A very special thanks to Melanie Register, Brian Lamprecht, and Travis Strickland for their participation and support in the editing and publishing of this book. You guys are awesome!

WARNING!

The American Security Administration has determined that THE DEMON CONSPIRACY SERIES can cause nightmares and unexplainable feelings of being watched. The conspiratorial thinking and utter terror within these pages may be hazardous to your psychological health.

READ WITH CAUTION

Marcus Conn

Deputy Director

American Security Administration

1

Boys Don’t Matter

Malta, 1938

KLOKE

Kloke watched the old woman, waiting for the chance to make her move. She didn't care about the woman, and she certainly had no particular feelings for the island country of Malta. Kloke had a job to do, and if things went according to plan, the Concern would most likely offer her a generous bonus and more work. She needed all the work she could get, and this was just the kind of project that would show off her specialized skill sets. Nobody manipulated humans better than Kloke, and that included the project manager, Mogen Deel himself, no matter how important he thought he was.

Mrs. Valentina Cassar set a silver tray on the table next to where Kloke sat in a ladder-back chair that felt like a stool. Steam rose from a copper tea kettle on the tray. Next to the kettle were two china cups on saucers, a matching sugar bowl, and a pair of handcrafted silver spoons, one by each cup.

Mrs. Cassar was seventy, though she looked eighty with her pulled-back, wiry gray hair and wrinkled tan skin. Her arthritic knees made her waddle around the quaint little house like a duck. She poured tea for her guest, almost giddy about having a visitor.

I only have sugar cubes, she said, speaking her native Maltese in a husky, yet feminine, voice. We can’t get the fancy powdered sugar here very often. One of the problems living on an island, you know.

Oh, I know, said Kloke. I prefer cubes. Do you have cream?

Certainly! I don't use it myself, but I should have realized a guest might want some. She hurried back to the boxy little kitchen.

As soon as Mrs. Cassar was facing the other way, Kloke brought out a metal box the size of a bar of soap and opened it. Inside were several sugar cubes, all identical. She snatched one up and closed the box, putting it back into a hidden pocket inside her white, wool sweater. She checked to make sure her host wasn't looking, then dropped the cube into the other woman's cup of tea.

Mrs. Cassar returned with a pitcher of cream. As she added two more lumps of sugar to her tea, Kloke poured cream into her cup and set the pitcher on the tray. She took up one of the spoons and stirred, noticing the delicate carving of a young child's face in the spoon's handle. The craftsmanship was a bit crude, but the details around the child's eyes and mouth were surprisingly authentic. She sipped the tea noisily, pretending to drink it. Kloke despised tea almost as much as she hated the flavor of white potatoes, and that was saying a lot.

I don't often have guests, said Mrs. Cassar. She grimaced as she sipped her tea. It's too sweet! Did I put sugar in twice?

Kloke nodded around another pretended sip. You must have a sweet tooth.

Mrs. Cassar laughed and shook her head. I rarely eat sweets, though I do have a fondness for honey toast. Where did you say you were from, Miss Kloke?

Popeye Village, replied Kloke. On Anchor Bay. My father is a fisherman. With her dark eyes, waist-length raven hair, and fluent Maltese, Kloke knew she could fool just about anyone on the island into believing she was one of them. Mrs. Cassar had no reason to think otherwise.

Everybody's father, uncle, son, and brother are fishermen in Malta, said the old woman with a chuckle. "There isn't much else to do for a living, I suppose. If only they saw educating their children as important as catching fish. We have thirty-one children enrolled in the school, you know. The entire school. There are many more children on the island than that, though I suppose I should be grateful to have any show up at all."

I totally agree. Thirty-one children? How many girls?

Seventeen. Some of them have had rather boorish upbringings, but we will turn them all into proper ladies before they graduate. That is, assuming they keep up their grades and manage not to…get married before they turn fifteen. A few may even attend universities in Europe.

Thirty-one children, repeated Kloke. You're right, Mrs. Cassar. It's far too few to be attending school these days.

Mrs. Cassar lived in a two-story stone house that had been in her family for over a hundred years. Kloke knew all about it because she'd read the old woman's mind as soon as they'd met.

The house sat at the edge of a low bluff with an open view of the Mediterranean that most people would kill for. Kloke looked around at the simple furnishings. The woman had three tall bookshelves loaded with volumes on teaching and textbooks on a variety of subjects about languages, such as English, Italian, Maltese, and French. She also noted science and math books for kids from first grade through high school. A worn flower-print sofa that looked as old as the house was the only other seat in the room. Hung above the sofa was a seascape showing waves crashing on a rocky part of the island's long coast.

I understand you are the school's headmistress?

The old woman smiled with pride. I am. I have one other teacher who helps me, Lena Schmidt. Her Maltese is quite good, you know. She’s a German national who wanted to teach in a school where she could also practice speaking English. Her family is wealthy, I hear, and her uncle is a big-time general in the army, but we’ve never discussed it.

Mrs. Cassar stirred her tea again before she sipped. We have one young boy who is gifted in the speaking of languages, Dante Gallo. He's a bit spoiled, but I believe he may someday attend school in Germany or Italy; maybe even England.

So, you teach English in the school?

Oh, yes. Every Tuesday the children must speak English the entire day.

Kloke took a small watch from a different pocket in her sweater. It was time.

Mrs. Cassar, you are now under my control. Nod if you understand.

Mrs. Cassar became silent. Her eyes went blank as she stared at the wall behind Kloke. She nodded slightly.

Good. This is important, so listen well. I want you to take your entire school to see the bone room next Tuesday.

We always go to the bone room, said Mrs. Cassar in a lower voice. It’s a field trip we take every year.

"That’s good. Very good. When you go, make certain all the girls are present."

We usually let the girls who don't want to go inside the cave remain on the bus. Girls tend to be frightened by the stories about the evil gods and that big roomful of old bones.

"Not this time. The girls must go in. Make sure your other teacher goes in, too. It's vital. You can make that happen, yes?"

Yes, said Mrs. Cassar with a nod. What about the boys?

Boys don't matter. Kloke got up, still holding her teacup, spoon, and saucer. She went to the door and took in the deep blue Mediterranean view beyond the seawall. The smell of the salt air was exhilarating. In a moment, you'll take a nice long nap and feel particularly refreshed when you wake up. You'll be excited about the field trip to the bone room and begin planning for it right away. And you won't remember anything about me; nothing at all. Have a good day, Mrs. Cassar.

You have a good day as well, said the old woman with a yawn. I believe I’ll take a nap now.

As Mrs. Cassar lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes, Kloke took all of her dishes to the kitchen, rinsing them in the sink. She found a dishtowel and dried them thoroughly before placing the cup and saucer on a shelf where they belonged. She set the spoon on the counter, then left the stone house and headed for the docks at the east end of the island. Seventeen girls and one young woman. Mogen Deel had only requested five females to complete the job. He was going to be much impressed when she pulled this off. Perhaps she'd get an additional bonus for bringing in so many females. After all, a project as big as this was all about the girls.

2

The Field Trip

DANTE

Dante Gallo was so excited he couldn’t stay still in his seat on the 1932 Ford Model B school bus. He and his classmates were all excited. Old Mrs. Cassar and Fräulein Schmidt were taking them on a field trip to see the mysterious caves that stored ancient human bones. Lots of them! Though Dante had lived in Malta his whole life (nine years so far) and had heard all about the caves, he had never seen the bone room.

The students were shoulder to shoulder on the bus with three sitting in most seats. Dante sat with his best friend, Fernando Lopez, who at fifteen was the strongest boy in the whole school. Dante had a new Brownie camera, a Christmas present from his Uncle Fabio, hung from a cord around his neck. Uncle Fabio lived in Rome and was very wealthy. He had told Dante that the 1938 camera was the newest and best one made. The camera was the most excellent gift Dante had ever gotten. He also had a brown crocodile-skin satchel for carrying the camera, film, and flashbulbs. His bag lunch was beside him on the seat. Momma had made his favorite sandwich: salted smelt and sliced olives. He could smell traces of the spiced fish and tried to keep his thoughts away from food since lunch was a long way off. He also caught the sweet scent of dried figs wrapped in a thin cloth. Dante's mouth watered. He loved figs.

Dante wanted to take pictures of the group outside the cave before they went in, but he’d brought plenty of flashbulbs for inside, too. All the boys were hoping they could eat lunch in the bone room, but their teachers hadn’t confirmed that plan yet. The girls would call it gross, but Dante thought eating lunch with the dead would be terrific, and it was something he could tell his parents about later.

The bus parked in front of a gray stone building that contained five separate residences on the ground level. Nearby, several men worked to replace a drainage pipe beside the road. An old man wearing a black cap sat on a wooden bench in front of the house nearest to the cave. He smoked a cigarette and leaned back in comfort as he watched the kids with a smile.

Fräulein Schmidt rose from her seat at the front of the bus, holding a strange light that looked nothing like Mrs. Cassar’s kerosene lantern. Was it a flashlight? Dante had heard of them but had never seen one. The bus got quiet.

Class, I vant everybody to get off zhe bus and follow Mrs. Cassar. You vill line up at zhe cave entrance. She stooped forward and pointed out the bus window. The students all looked. Mr. Zhora, our guide, will meet us. Single file, now go. The kids began to unload.

Fräulein Schmidt was the most beautiful woman Dante had ever seen. She was tall and slender with graceful hands and dark brown hair. Her eyes were the same color blue as the Mediterranean Sea on a bright summer day. Everybody loved her, but Dante felt he loved her the most. She was only twenty-two, which meant she was thirteen years older than he was. He secretly wanted to marry her, though he knew she'd most likely go back to her home in Germany in a few years and get another job teaching someplace else.

Dante got his camera and satchel and followed Fernando off the bus. They waited near Fräulein Schmidt and Mrs. Cassar, so they could be first in line. Dante listened as Fräulein Schmidt spoke quietly with the older teacher.

Mrs. Cassar, if any of zhe girls are afraid to eat in zhe bone room, I’d be happy to stay on zhe bus with zhem. I heard what happened last year.

Mrs. Cassar snorted loudly. What happened last year will not happen this year. The girls will eat lunch in the bone room with the rest of the class.

Even zhe youngest ones? Carmella and Maria have vivid imaginations. Zhey might have nightmares tonight if zhe bones frighten zhem.

"We will all eat lunch with the dead and enjoy it. I’ll hear no more about it."

Fräulein Schmidt seemed taken aback. Dante was surprised to hear Mrs. Cassar speak harshly to her as if she were one of the students. The pretty young teacher looked at Dante, realizing he had overheard what had been said, but Dante quickly glanced away. He didn't want her to be embarrassed.

Carmella Alard, who was five-years-old and the youngest student in the school, chased Zbrowen Falzon and Amy Starita around the open area next to the cave entrance. Zbrowen was six, and Amy had just celebrated her ninth birthday last week. They squealed with delight and waved to the old man on the bench as they ran by him. He nodded and waved back, smiling around his cigarette.

Some of the teenagers were clowning around, too. Dante watched with interest as Tahima Farr walked up to Roxanne Palma and put his arm around her shoulders. She broke free and shoved him away from her, but a moment later she got close enough for him to try it again. Other kids chased each other around the bus until Mr. Zhora arrived. He got everyone’s attention with a loud, throaty cough and gave them a stern look. They quickly lined up at the cave entrance, which was a gigantic hole in the ground next to a half-buried boulder surrounded by red flowers. Mr. Zhora spoke only in Maltese. He seemed a little nervous in front of the crowd.

Hello, Children. I'm Mr. Zhora, but you can call me Joe. I am here to show you the cave, but first I want to tell you about it. In 1909, workers were digging a well in this very spot. They were standing right over there by the entrance when the ground beneath them caved in. After careful exploration of the many underground chambers, it became clear from the remains that this was some religious burial ground. It may also have been a secret meeting place. We still do not know the full purpose of the chambers, other than burial spaces, and we do not know who made them.

Tahima, who was sixteen, raised his hand, apparently hoping to impress Roxanne. He spoke in Maltese. When he had finished his question, Roxanne and the other students made fun of him.

It’s Tuesday, Tahima, said old Mrs. Cassar, who spoke English almost without any accent at all. What language do we always speak on Tuesday?

Tahima grinned, embarrassed. English, Mrs. Cassar.

Ask your question again.

Mr. Zhora, I saw the bone room when we came here lasd year. How many people did you say were buried there?

Mr. Zhora nodded, speaking in Maltese. First, Mrs. Cassar, I apologize that I do not speak English so well. I did not know it was English Tuesday.

That’s fine, Mr. Zhora, said Mrs. Cassar, also in their native tongue. Some of the younger children covered their mouth and pointed at her like she’d said curse words. We all understand our own language.

He nodded and continued. We estimate that the bones of over 33,000 people are in that room, stacked like firewood. The children murmured excitedly. Some of the girls looked frightened. It’s a very big room. Are we ready?

Mrs. Cassar took charge. Line up behind me, Children! She clapped her hands three times and stood at the edge of the cave as everyone lined up. Dante figured she must have been teaching for a hundred years. Fernando had once told him that she would probably die teaching, just drop dead in front of the whole school. She continued. Mr. Zhora will lead us. He will carry a lantern, and so will I. Fräulein Schmidt will be at the other end of the line with a flashlight. Hold onto the rope whether you think you need to or not. The chasm is deep.

Dante raised his hand. Fräulein Schmidd! Can I dake a picdure of the class? He said class, but it would really be a picture of every student in his school, all 30 of them.

Mr. Zhora smiled. Mrs. Cassar looked at her wristwatch. Fräulein Schmidt quickly gathered everybody together into a group pose with the teachers and Joe behind the center of the group.

Is zhis good?

Dante stood back to where he could get everyone in view. Say cheese!

The group collectively said, Cheeeeese! Some said it in English, and some in Maltese. Dante took the shot and ran back in line.

The old man on the bench got up and ambled over to them. He also spoke in Maltese. Show me how to work that camera of yours, boy. I’ll take another photograph with you in it too. You should be in the picture with the rest of your school, don’t you think?

Yes, Sir. Dante gave the man the camera, showed him how it worked, then ran to join