In Venezia’s Shadows

By Hailey Huntington

The waters of Venezia are colder than most people think.

I stare at the Grand Canal two stories beneath me. Waves lap quietly against the dock to Palazzo Grassi, shimmering in the moonlight. Venezia—Venice—is quiet now. The tourists have retreated. The gondolas are docked. Below, a duck nibbles on a forgotten gelato cone.

Venezia. Nicknamed the City of Masks. Indeed, it has many masks—the bright and beautiful sights the tourists see, the charm and character the locals love, the dangerous and deadly secrets few know.

I am all too acquainted with that last mask of Venezia, but I have determined not to make it a mask I wear.

A heron squawks somewhere in the distance. Turning away from the window, I head back into Palazzo Grassi. The grand building, formerly a residence and then International Centre for Arts and Costume, is now an art gallery. Masterpieces watch me from the walls, tracking my silent steps. It’s completely dark in the palazzo, but I know the building. I won’t run into anything or get lost in the darkness. Night and I are old friends.

My feet tread the familiar path to the open balcony of the inner court. Swallowing, I walk up to the balustrade, gingerly resting my fingers atop it. Above me, open air stretches all the way to the third-floor ceiling. Below me, the ornate design of the first floor is surrounded by the Tuscan columns, all but invisible in the shadows.

Yet, despite the fact that I cannot see the floor, memories creep into my mind.

The balustrade at my back. Rushing open air. Hard floor. Blood.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The footsteps of the night watchman break me out of my nightmarish thoughts. A faint smile crosses my face. From the closeness of the sound, I know he’s strolling the other side of the balcony. Like me, the watchman is familiar with Palazzo Grassi and walks without his torch on. He, too, enjoys the dark stillness.

The footsteps turn toward another part of the palazzo, and the watchman leaves me behind. I trail my fingers along the cool railing as the taps grow softer, the quiet darkness settling around me again.

Suddenly, I stiffen. The renovation workers were in that area of Palazzo Grassi today. They opened up the floor in their work. The watchman won’t see it in the dark.

Vivid memories of falling rush upon me again. I must warn him. Silently, I dart around the balcony to the other side, following after the watchman. I have to reach him. I can’t be too late.

The tapping footsteps grow in volume.

I swallow, trying to remember the way words feel. I haven’t spoken in so long. But I have to speak now.

“Stop!”

The scream rips from my throat and into the air, echoing through the palazzo. My voice sounds foreign to me. The taps stop. I suck in a breath. “You have to stop!” Pleading colors the words.

There’s a brief rustling sound and then a sudden burst of concentrated light. The night watchman sweeps his torch around, cutting through the darkness. Even though the light is directed away from him, I can see his wide eyes in the glow. The torch beam passes through me, just like I knew it would. As he turns around, now facing the direction he had been walking, the watchman stumbles back. “Oh my.”

A few feet in front of him is a gaping chasm, part of the renovation workers’ project, with caution tape around it. Two or three seconds more, and I would have been too late. The watchman would have fallen.

Taking several more steps backward, the watchman leans against the wall, whispering a prayer. I linger there for a moment before drifting back down the hallway. The watchman will use his torch for the rest of the night. I don’t have to worry about him now.

I pause when I hear a soft, “Thank you.” Warmth spreads through me, and I smile.

Not all of Venezia is bright. Not everything in Palazzo Grassi’s history has been beautiful. I died here, broken on the beautiful floor. But even though I am part of Venezia’s shadows, I will not wear a dark mask.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hailey Huntington is a speculative fiction author, penning tales of wonder, hope, and heroes, with a dash of wit. Her stories can be found online and in various print anthologies. When not writing or reading, Hailey can be found listening to her favorite film scores, making homemade ice cream, or spending time with her family.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram