This summer I'll be releasing my second collection of short stories, Broken Mirror and Other Morbid Tales. Thirteen tales of the macabre from horror author Carmilla Voiez. Meet a confused ghost, a vampire, searching for love, and a woman bent on revenge; visit a gateway to hell, a hotel in faery and an abandoned asylum, in this unique collection of stories. It includes the novella Basement Beauty.
Includes
Basement Beauty ~ Vampire novella
Salon of Lost Souls ~ Ghost short story
Impatient for Death, a love story
Jagged Jaws ~ Tale of revenge
Broken Mirror ~ Weird short of self mutilation
Dead aHead ~ Short story of loss
The Changeling ~ Tale of obsession
Pumpkin Lanterns ~ Halloween vignette
Dance the Ghost With Me ~ Gothic ghost story
Cracked ~ Haunted asylum
Penetration ~ Hunter and hunted
Cellar Door ~ Monster story
The Violinist ~ Murder and music
Excerpt from Basement Beauty ~
‘You’re too beautiful to be killed, Tay,’ Lynsey assured her, brushing a manicured hand through freshly lightened hair.
‘What the fuck do you mean?’ Amalthea shook her head, jostling afro curls and revealing a petulant frown that drew her plump cheeks inwards.
‘Aint you heard? All the victims were ugly. Aint gonna happen to you, kiddo.’
Amalthea gazed at the empty pint glass in her hands. ‘Ugly?’
‘Yeah, not grotesque freaks or anything, just plain ugly: big noses, crooked teeth, greasy hair, you know. When I went to the dentist this morning they told me everyone and their f’in dog’s booked in for cosmetic work.’
‘Isn’t that odd?’ Amalthea rotated the glass this way and that between caramel fingers.
Lynsey shrugged. ‘Dunno.’
‘I think it’s odd.’
‘Whatever, girl. Just stop stressing, okay. You’re too beautiful to die.’
Amalthea glanced over the bar at the almost empty nightclub. ‘Seems quiet tonight.’
‘Yeah, well it’s still early. Heard there’s a gig on. Lots of people probably there. They’ll lurch in here eventually.’ Lynsey wiped down the dark wood counter with a damp, blue cloth.
‘Hope so. Drags when it’s this quiet.’ Amalthea placed the clean glass on a shelf at knee level. ‘Makes me want to open a book.’
Lynsey nodded. ‘Why don’t you? Hey, you alright for a minute if I pop out for a ciggie?’
Amalthea nodded toward the dimly lit room and grimaced. ‘Uh yeah. I think I can manage these three alone.’
‘Cheers, babes.’ Lynsey kissed Amalthea’s cheek and exited through a door between rows of optics.
Amalthea dried another glass from the crate and set it on the shelf. She repeated the action until the crate was empty without being disturbed by customers. When she looked up again she noticed a young man had entered the club and was strolling towards her. She recognised him from poetry nights. As always, he arrived alone. This evening he carried a slender book. She tried to see the cover, but it was angled away from her.
‘Hi,’ she said as he sat on a stool.
He smiled warmly. He was pretty, for a white boy. His skin seemed to have the soft glow of health that was rare in young men from this Scottish city. He reminded Amalthea of the father she hadn’t seen in over a decade, except this lad was even paler and his eyes resembled emeralds held in front of a flame.
Excerpt from The Salon of Lost Souls ~
Laura drove her mini along the gravel drive toward the Stately House that would be her home for the next few years. Yellow stone fascias sparkled where the soft Northern sunlight caressed them. Her nervous excitement subsided a little and, for one blissful moment, it was as though she was being welcomed home.
No other cars littered the driveway. She had passed the visitors’ car park a few minutes ago, and she considered driving back there, but decided against it. The removal van would be here soon. When car and van had been emptied she would ask her line manager where she should park overnight.
She stepped out of the car, pushed the door shut and stretched her neck to take in the true height of the building. Corinthian pillars adorned the front, and white sash windows reached skyward above the horseshoe-shaped stone stairs that led to a pair of French doors on the first floor. She let her imagination take flight and saw a grand, horse-drawn carriage empty its contents of proud figures, draped in silks and velvets. The vintage nobility swept up the stairs to be welcomed by the Earl and Countess.
Instead of following their ghostly footsteps, Laura crossed the gravel driveway and entered via the shop in the bowels of the building.
A woman in a green tartan vest was chatting to a grey-haired, camel-coated customer about the selection of single malts. Laura waited patiently. Her eyes flitting from flagstone floor to dark wood desk and across an array of tastefully arranged merchandise. The stock was familiar. They had mostly the same items for sale in Laura’s previous workplace. She had counted stock and marked off delivery sheets numerous times and could name both the suppliers and their contact telephone numbers by heart. It wouldn’t be so different here after all. Same work, different location. Only this time she was the custodian, the key holder, the resident manager. It was her time. A promotion that seemed almost too good to be true.
The customer wandered thoughtfully away from the sales desk and Laura approached with a warm, professional smile.
‘Hi, I’m Laura McIntyre. I’m the new manager. Has Peter Ingles arrived yet?’
The shop assistant returned a confident smile. One that said its owner knew everything there was to know about Laura already. ‘He phoned to say he’ll be about thirty minutes. I’ll call Mike, the deputy manager.’
Laura nodded. She read the name on the staff badge. ‘Thank you, Angela. Have you worked here long?’
Angela’s smile didn’t falter. ‘I’ve been here since the beginning. Almost twenty five years now. Twenty five years and fifteen managers.’
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