Air: Elements of Horror, #2

By P.J. Blakey-Novis

Elements of Horror Book Two: Air, is the second in a series of four horror anthologies based on the Elements. Within these pages you will find a variety of stories from some of the best independent horror writers on the scene today. Breathe deeply, as you experience the horrors of twisted serial killers, apocalyptic outbreaks, evil spirits, and much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cape Publishing
• Release date: May 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201733308

Book preview

ELEMENTS OF HORROR:

Book Two

AIR

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 Red Cape Publishing

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Red Cape Graphic Design

Www.redcapepublishing.com/red-cape-graphic-design

Foreword

Welcome to Book Two: Air, the second in a series of four anthologies based on the Elements. Dive into tales of twisted killers, evil spirits, apocalyptic outbreaks, and much more. We hope you enjoy the dark and varied tales, and that you will go on to read more by the authors involved in this book. Keep an eye out for books three and four, both due for release in the later part of 2019.

Coming soon

Book Three: Fire

Book Four: Water

Folletti

Jaq D. Hawkins

The streets of Venice were cloaked in sinister shadows from the growing darkness. Black clouds obscured the normally golden sunset at twilight, a part of the day that brought out Lia's instinct to find cover, even when the weather was fine.

A rumble of thunder made her start, just as she was about to step onto the Calle de la l'Angelo Bridge to cross to the narrow streets that would lead her to what she prayed would be a place of safety. She pulled her flowered shawl up over her long, dark hair, hugging it closely as if it offered shelter.

They can't cross water, Lia mumbled softly to herself, hoping her grandmother had been right. The reminder gave her courage to push herself forward up the few steps of the bridge, in the belief that sanctuary awaited her within the walls of Saint Mark's Basillica, not far away on the other side. She felt exposed on the open canal and hurried across and down the steps on the opposite side. So far, she had progressed without incident. Just as long as the wind didn't come up...

Once she was able to get away from the waterside into the shelter of buildings rising on both sides of a narrow street, the tall structures provided shelter from most of the wind currents. Lia hadn't taken the time at the canal to appreciate the ancient architecture or the magnificent decorative glass in the windows of even the poorest dwellings. The bottle-green shutters on the upper-storey windows over the reflective surface and the gondolas passing through the waterways of the city might be fascinating to tourists, but to Lia, getting as far away from the open canal quickly meant less exposure to the unrestricted flow of air.

Coming to Venice meant escape, or so she had hoped. Now she wasn't so sure. A city on water should have natural protection against evil spirits, but she had witnessed the whirlwinds beginning to form more than once now. The foletto di vento, the wind folletti, had followed her, even here. Perhaps her grandmother had been wrong about spirits crossing water after all.

Lia pressed against a wall as a sudden whistle from a stream of wind blew through the narrow passage, creating a wind tunnel effect. The overpriced shops and restaurants, mostly for tourists, invited her into shelter of a sort, but they were far too public. The opening of a door was all a wind spirit would need to enter unsanctified ground.

The enticing burnt sugar aroma from a nearby baked goods shop reminded her that she had not eaten today, but there was no time now. The sun was setting. She pressed on. The main part of the Basillica would have already closed to the public for the day, but the bell tower allowed later admission. She had not seen the inside of the tower before, but surely, she thought, there must be some place inside where she could secrete herself. It was still sanctified ground. The spirits should not be able to enter.

The street opened onto the Piazzetta dei Leoncini, the square in front of the Basillica. Another rumble of thunder threatened to deluge the square with sheets of rain, but the tourists only glanced up at the precarious weather, determined to experience Venice, regardless. Lia instinctively recoiled from the wide-open space. The tiny dust devils on the expanse of pavement caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise as she gazed longingly across the vast open space to the Tower's entry door. More tourists were coming out of the Tower than going in at this late hour. She overheard a snippet of conversation as a mother and two sons, perhaps ten and thirteen, passed by her into the shelter of the blessedly enclosed street.

I can't believe how windy it was up in the tower! the younger of the two boys enthused in an American accent. The walls are wide open with just a metal grate!

That's to keep you from jumping and splatting on the ground, his brother teased.

Lia didn't hear the mother's response. Drops fell on her cheeks, either tears or rain, she could not tell, though she knew there would be no rain. She collapsed onto the pavement, defeated.

Excuse me, signora, can I be of assistance? Another American voice, this time a man, wearing a grey suit and a blue and white striped shirt. Lia presumed a boatload of American tourists had come all at once.

I must stay out of the wind. Lia was reluctant to explain further to a stranger, certainly not to a tourist.

My hotel is nearby; you can shelter there for a while until the storm passes.

Lia shot him an angry glare.

I am not a prostitute! she spat.

Whoa! The man put his hands up, palms forward in a gesture of surrender. I didn't mean that. I won't try to touch you, I promise. I just wanted to help.

He offered a hand to help her up. Lia looked him over with suspicion, but in the end she took his hand and accepted the gallant gesture. The storm was gathering force now. Lia looked up at the anomalous clouds, then back at the stranger. He had a kind face. Perhaps... just perhaps he was a genuine samaritan. Lia had heard many American men could be so.

I apologize if I have offended you. A woman has to be careful.

I understand. His disarming smile looked genuine. A warm coffee and shelter from the rain. That's all I'm suggesting. My name is Matt Cooper.

So now there was coffee as well. Lia's naturally suspicious nature would keep her alert. The wind was beginning to blow through the streets. She needed shelter. She nodded her head once.

Lia, she supplied. Her full name would have cost too much precious time, and she did not like giving it to strangers.

She followed Matt as he led her further into the labyrinth of buildings, but true to his word, they did not have to go far. They came to a doorway with a hotel sign among the shops. The inside glowed with golden lights, a hint of the palatial decor inside that reeked of old-world Venetian artistry.

A blast of wind rattled the windows as they stepped inside, screeching as if in frustration. Lia felt a rush of adrenaline up her spine and couldn't help turning to look, grateful for the solid walls surrounding her. The rows of shops and hotels shared walls, making full use of the limited space of the floating city. Wind could not penetrate easily.

They stopped in the bar and Matt ordered two cappuccinos in broken Italian. Lia tried to avoid eye contact with the man behind the bar and his disapproving frown. She was not prepared to explain to her rescuer that no one ordered cappuccino after breakfast in Italy.

That embarrassment was part of the reason Lia was willing to take the drinks up to his room to drink them in privacy. She did not want to be in a public place where her fears would surely be noticed by more well-meaning samaritans. They could not help her now.

Like most hotel rooms, his was dominated by a double bed. The ornately decorated headboard, bedside table and even the lamps suggested a higher quality room. Despite her earlier protestations of her virtue, Lia wondered if she would sleep with this stranger to remain safely indoors through the night. Throughout her twenty-four years of life, she had refused overtures from men because she did not want to pass the family's curse to another generation. Tonight, her fear, rather than desire, made her resolve falter, though Matt Cooper was at least clean and presentable, apart from a tear on the cuff of his shirt that could do with stitching.

A newspaper sat on a desk across the room and Lia couldn't help noticing a headline about a grisly series of murders in the city. Perhaps there were other dangers to avoid in Venice at night. Matt noticed the direction of her gaze and offered some reassurance.

Terrible, isn't it? Even a beautiful city like this has its problems. Are you a local?

Lia shook her head.

I come from further south, a village near Napoli... you would call it Naples.

Your English is good. Do all Italians speak English? He handed her one of the tall mugs. Lia sipped it gratefully, appreciating the warmth, if not the bitter, creamy taste. She would have preferred something stronger, an espresso or macchiato.

Not all, she answered. I went to university in England. To escape the folletti, but they followed me there too.

What were you so afraid of outside? You said you had to get out of the wind, but you don't look ill.

Lia shuddered under Matt's piercing stare over the edge of his mug as he took a drink.

You would think me mad if I explained.

Try me. He was persistent. Lia weighed the chances that he might throw her out into the storm, thinking her insane, against the slight possibility that he would shelter her without demanding anything more of her.

A foletto di vento. The words were out now. She couldn't take them back. Wind folletti. They are spirits of the air and winds. My great, great, grandmother insulted the spirits, and now there is a curse on the women of my family. None have lived to their twenty-fifth year. I am the last of our line.

You have no children?

Lia looked away, too shy to explain her virginity to a stranger.

I've taken no chances. It is necessary the curse stops with me.

Matt rubbed his face before he spoke again. Lia glanced up at him shyly, sure his skin glistened with sweat all of a sudden.

I knew it, he declared at last. I can smell innocence a mile away.

A loud crack of