This Haunted World Book Five: Resistance: A Truly Haunting Supernatural Thriller, page 1
Resistance
This Haunted World Book Five
Shani Struthers
This Haunted World Book Five: Resistance, Copyright Shani Struthers 2023
This Kindle edition published 2023
The right of Shani Struthers to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, the Internet or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. It may not be given away or re-sold to other people.
www.shanistruthers.com
www.authorsreach.co.uk
Most characters and events featured in this publication are purely fictitious. Any resemblance to any fictitious person, places, organisation/company, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by RoseWolf Design
The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.
Albert Einstein
Contents
Acknowledgments
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part Two
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
A note from the author
Also by the author
Acknowledgments
What a book this was to write, delving into true horror, acts which the living visit upon each other. But, of course, as with all my books, there is a ghostly element, because it’s easy to imagine that some horrors can take time to fade, following you beyond death, into another realm. Heavily based on fact, thanks first for the opportunity to stay in the apartment last Christmas that the apartment in the book is based on, in the beautiful Pinciano district of Rome, and indeed a time capsule. I’ve been to Rome several times, and yet it was only during this visit I noticed the stumbling stones, which, if you don’t know about already, you’ll discover in these pages. It was then that the idea for Resistance fell into place. Once drafted, this book was beta read by my usual team – Rob Struthers, Louisa Taylor, Kate Jane Jones, Sarah Savery and Lesley Hughes, thank you so much for your invaluable feedback. In particular, thank you to Rob for noticing some historical discrepancies and supporting me with buckets of coffee during a marathon sprint amending them – blast my dyscalculia!! Hopefully all is correct now. Thanks also to my editor, Rumer Haven, for always making such a daunting process a joy, and Gina Dickerson of RoseWolf Design, for another beautiful cover, as well as formatting and graphics. I hope you, the reader, enjoy the latest book in the This Haunted World series.
For all those who stand against evil, including those who try.
Also for Gunter Demnig, for his creation of the Stolpersteine.
Part One
Hannah - 2010
Chapter One
No longer a dream, a notion, or an idle thought, it was bright, blinding reality, and Hannah Massey had the paperwork to prove it, which she was busy showing to her friend in a crowded coffee shop in London.
Abbie clutched at the documents. “You’ve got it? It’s yours? All yours? A flat in Rome! The Eternal City. Wow! I mean…hey…who doesn’t love Rome?”
Hannah didn’t know why she was so relieved at Abbie’s reaction; she knew this was a good idea, a decision she’d made solely by herself that she was proud of. “I just think,” she answered, taking a sip of latte from the mug in front of her, “it’s a really good investment. It’s fitting, you know? The best way I can think of to commemorate Mum and Dad. Eternal City, eternal love. That kind of thing.”
“It’s a fantastic way,” Abbie enthused further, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “And as a holiday rental, it’s bound to do well. Although…”
“Although what?” Hannah said, shifting slightly in the padded chair.
“Well…when it’s not being rented out to intrepid travellers, you know, on the odd weekend, it’d make a great party pad for your adoring friends. Hint, hint.”
Hannah laughed. It would. If, as Abbie had said, the odd weekend became free. Parties, however, would have to wait, at least for a short while. “All the furniture you see in the photographs?” she continued. “There was an option for it to be included when buying, so I took advantage of it. They look like quality pieces, don’t they? Solid. So I’m really glad I did. But…it needs a lot of sorting out. Apparently, Caterina Ricci, who used to live there, was eighty-seven when she died. Intestate.”
“In-what?”
“It means she left no will and had no living relatives either that could be traced. So, yeah, I’m the inheritor, I guess. In a way.”
Abbie frowned. “And you’re really going to keep the furniture? They’re solid pieces, I agree, but…they’re very old-fashioned, Han. I’m just not sure that’s what holidaymakers want nowadays. Everyone expects the modern stuff. I know I do.”
“Abbie, come on! Look at that bed and the chandelier hanging over it. Those are antiques. The whole apartment’s lost in time, and, actually, that’s what attracted me to it. When I saw it, I just…I had to have it. Not only that, preserve it.”
Abbie peered at the photographs. “That bed! It looks like it belongs in the Addams Family mansion. It’s just…it’s spooky.”
“What? No way—”
“Shit!”
Hannah frowned at Abbie’s sudden expletive. “Sorry?”
“You don’t think she died in that bed, do you?”
“Who?”
“The old woman that used to live there!”
“No!” Hannah spluttered, aghast. “Why would you even think that?”
Even Abbie looked bemused. “I don’t know. As I say, just…way too spooky.”
“It’s drenched in history. And like I said, I want it to stay that way. The apartment building is three hundred years old, and it’s in an old, established neighbourhood too, the Pinciano district, apparently. There’s a culture that exists there, that’s ingrained. I want the apartment to stay true to that, to have bags of personality. I love modern, but this needs to remain as it is. That’s mainly what people go to Rome for, the history, so I’m going to retain everything that’s original, right down to the last detail.”
Abbie drank from her own coffee cup. “Fine. Fair enough. You’ve bought a time capsule. But if it were me—”
“Abbie, you’ve got great taste, but IKEA this ain’t.”
“You’re making it sound like a museum rather than a party pad.”
“It’s not going to be a party pad! What it is, is a business.”
“And you have two months off work, right?”
Hannah nodded.
“Lucky thing! I could do with a lifelong sabbatical, but, hey, we won’t get into that right now. Still, it should give you plenty of time to sort it all out, as you say, and I could even come over for a couple of weekends to help. What do you think?”
“You could,” Hannah agreed, “but for now, give me a little time to get used to it. I’ve been to Italy before but never Rome. And honestly? I can’t wait.”
Abbie sighed as she gestured towards the window. “What a change it’ll make from this, eh? Gloomy London in January, where all it does is rain. It’s got to be warmer there. And the men…oh, the men! Never mind the history, that’s what I’d be going for. Actually, Hannah, that’s a good point. You might meet the man of your dreams there!”
“I’m twenty-three, Abbie. I’m not looking for anyone right now.”
To which Abbie shrugged, her friend who was always on the lookout.
They ordered more coffees, and when the fresh cups arrived at their table, Abbie duly lifted hers to chink against Hannah’s.
“Here’s to your parents. And to new beginnings.”
“To Mum, Dad, and new beginnings,” Hannah echoed, adding, “whilst never forgetting what it took to get there.”
Later, after the pair had also fit in some shopping around the West End, with Hannah musing she’d soon be exploring a whole different set of shops in a brand-new city, a city of dreams, Hannah and Abbie headed back to their respective homes. After three years renting, Hannah had also managed to buy a flat in Bexley, thanks again to her father and the money he’d left her in his will. It was Sunday evening, and she was exhausted, having left work the previous Friday, surrendering her position as a stock controller in a pharmaceutical company – temporarily, at least. Friday and Saturday night had been given over to partying in honour of it, and then a catch-up with Abbie today, someone she’d been friends with since they were at school together. Two more days in London, then that’d be it. She’d be leaving – no return ticket booked. Two days in which to clean the flat, pack, and psyche herself up for what was, if not exactly a new beginning, then certainly a new chapter.
As soon as she got in, she kicked off her boots and removed her socks, scrunching her toes in the plush grey carpet she’d recently had installed, loving the feel of it against her toes. In the Rome apartment, it was all marble and wood floors, cool in summer, she supposed, but not so cosy in winter. And it did get cold in Rome in winter despite what Abbie thought; it could snow, the prospect of which made Hannah smile. Rome in the snow. Now that was romantic.
Still smiling, she hurried through to the second bedroom – aka her office, which was in reality a mere box room – to the desk there. Placing her bag on it, she retrieved all the paperwork she’d shown Abbie earlier and placed that on there too, smoothing the pages down for good measure. She then sat at the desk, unable to resist poring over them again. Sold as seen. Sold unseen, in truth. She’d never been to Rome and therefore had never seen the apartment either, had trusted to instinct instead, listened to that voice inside her that had cried out the second she’d laid eyes on the website listing: This is it! This is the one! It was a good price, a bargain, in fact, and so, after taking legal advice, she’d acted fast. The offer had been slapped down, with all subsequent correspondence taking place via phone and email. It was perfect. It had to be. Her leap of faith. As she’d told Abbie, it was located in the Pinciano area of Rome, which on the map looked slightly north of the city’s central attractions but was nonetheless walkable. A fantastic walk, she mused, imagining treasures unfolding on every corner. The Pantheon, the Colosseum, the Circus Maximus, and the Trevi Fountain were all there, waiting for her. She’d have a ball!
Despite this, as she continued to stare at the paperwork, the tears came. She was grateful for this opportunity, but it came at a heavy price – the death of her adored father, her sole remaining parent, taken too soon. What a kind, compassionate, levelheaded man he’d been, both honest and funny, all attributes she hoped she’d inherited to some degree. A man who’d loved her with everything he had, who’d brought her up alone since she was five when her mother had died.
A framed photograph of her parents together was also on her desk, right beside her laptop. So bright and fresh, it looked as if it had been taken only recently, but it was as old as she was, twenty-three years. It was a head shot, so what you couldn’t see was that her mother – Linda – was pregnant with Hannah, the couple’s only child. They were smiling, happy and carefree, with no idea of what was to come, the cancer that had followed Linda’s pregnancy, which she’d fought bravely against, determined to be there, if not for Hannah’s whole life, then for the start of it, at least.
Linda wouldn’t want her to cry. Her father wouldn’t. In fact, Michael would be having stern words with her right now if he could see her, which she hoped and prayed he could, that he was looking down as his voice echoed in her head:
“Now, what have I told you, Hannah? What have I always told you? Life is good, life is precious. It’s for living. And, yes, I know we have to work at feeling good sometimes, but that’s exactly what we do. We work at life, and we win.”
All this he’d said when his wife, and her mother, had lost. Hannah had sometimes rebelled against his relentlessly cheerful attitude. Sometimes, just sometimes, she’d wanted to see him cry, because she’d cried, as a child of five and later as a teenager, when everything had seemed to hurt so much more.
Michael, though, had an answer for everything:
“Hannah, her life was shorter than most, admitted, but she packed more into it than most too. We don’t enter this world with any guarantees. That’s why—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, why we live each day as though it’s our last.”
“We appreciate it. The highs and the lows.”
Her eyes travelled to yet another framed photograph, that of a much younger Hannah – aged four, with her mother and father – and one beside it of just herself and Michael. Hannah was around eighteen in this one, both of them smiling, beaming, in fact, as Michael and Linda had in that earlier picture. Always, always bloody smiling!
“Fuck it!” she cursed, one hand wiping hard at her eyes but failing to stem the flow. Now was not the time for this, some kind of…disintegration. Two more days and she was heading to her apartment in Rome, with the freedom to stay there for two months if she wanted, for it to be a totally immersive experience. An investment. That’s what she’d called it when talking to Abbie. A memorial too, in a way. A better place to visit than a grave in a cemetery. More uplifting. As her father would have wanted. One reason for choosing Rome was because she remembered Michael mentioning it, just the once and almost in passing, as a place he’d wanted to visit with Linda but never had. Now she was going and, in a way, taking them with her, the essence of them, at least, so they’d make the trip after all.
A wonderful thought. Beautiful. A happy thought. He’d brought her up to be happy despite sustaining such loss. And she remained happy despite his loss too. But she was also too young to be an orphan, cancer having taken him as well. Even that he’d been positive about, that his illness was going to be swift, not lingering.
“Truth be told, I don’t really want to hang around if I’m ill,” he’d said. “And, Hannah darling, I am ill. I can’t beat this, and so it’s better that it’s quick. But…I’m not leaving you, not really. Your mother never left us. We’ll always be with you, okay? Love knows no boundaries. Remember that. Love knows no boundaries.”
She’d dutifully agreed, for what else could she do?
“Hannah? Be happy. Please. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
Not a command, not exactly, but a dying wish.
The photographs on her desk were now blurred as she continued to stare at them, as if she were seeing everything through a haze. A release, that’s all this latest episode was. A tidal wave of grief that would, of course, subside.
It had been a year since Michael had died. Almost a year. She’d cried plenty in that time but had laughed too. Maybe not at first but in the ensuing weeks with friends such as Abbie taking care of her, dragging her out when she didn’t want to go, pouring out love and friendship as well as good coffee and wine. Being there for her. She’d always had a close circle of good friends. She was lucky. And now she was striking out on her own to a city she’d never been to before, where she’d bought a property! Excitement. There it was again, edging its way back in. Okay, okay, I know you’re there, don’t worry. She was an adult, learning to stand on her own two feet, and she’d had a good grounding, been taught by the best.
She sighed, could see again the crisp, clear faces of the photographs, the smiles that remained heroically in place, and the paperwork that sat beside them, the details of the apartment in black and white. The address was No. 3, Via Nizza, 32, 00198, Roma. Roma! One of the world’s most famous, most loved cities – once the heart of an empire. A small apartment, modest. It had two bedrooms, as her flat in Bexley did, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Nothing fancy, not really, although it was magical to her, a memorial and a tribute. She had two months in which to make it not just the perfect rental but a home from home. Not a place for parties despite what Abbie thought. This was a place that, in between holiday lets, she’d keep for herself as a refuge.
