Basement Beauty

By Carmilla Voiez

In the Scottish city of Glasgow, a serial killer leaves a trail of victims like statues. Fear poisons the city's residents, but Amalthea cannot afford to hide at home; she's too busy trying to scratch a living. When she receives a letter from a secret admirer, she suspects it's from a random creep who drinks at the bar, but the truth is far darker and more dangerous. Amalthea is afraid to walk home alone at night, but is she afraid enough?

Daniel is self-styled romantic poet who pities the women incapable of loving him back. He hopes things will be different with Amalthea.

Basement Beauty is a gritty vampire novella from the award-winning author of Starblood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carmilla Voiez
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215888124

Carmilla Voiez

Carmilla Voiez is a proudly bisexual and mildly autistic introvert who finds writing much easier than verbal communication. A life long Goth, living with two kids, two cats and a poet by the sea. She is passionate about horror, the alt scene, intersectional feminism, art, nature and animals. When not writing, she gets paid to hang out in a stately home and entertain tourists. ​ ​Carmilla grew up on a varied diet of horror. Her earliest influences as a teenage reader were Graham Masterton, Brian Lumley and Clive Barker mixed with the romance of Hammer Horror and the visceral violence of the first wave of video nasties. Fascinated by the Goth aesthetic and enchanted by threnodies of eighties Goth and post-punk music she evolved into the creature of darkness we find today. ​ Her books are both extraordinarily personal and universally challenging. As Jef Withonef of Houston Press once said - "You do not read her books, you survive them."

Book preview

1

‘Y ou’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 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 space. ‘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 counter with a damp 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? Mind 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, 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.

‘Coffee, please.’

Amalthea nodded. She had never known him to order alcohol. Most of the patrons were ardent drinkers and this boy... man stood out for his lack of inebriation. Was he too young to drink or a recovering alcoholic? Maybe he found other ways to relax: the words clutched in his hand or ones in his head. He fascinated her, although she wasn’t sure why. Physically, sexually, he wasn’t her type, but there was something about his gentle calm that attracted her and what better time to strike up a conversation than a quiet night like this?

She switched on the coffee machine and poured in freshly ground beans.

‘Seems quiet,’ he said.

‘Very,’ she answered. ‘What brings you here tonight? I normally just see you on poetry nights.’

‘You notice?’ he asked and his eyes gleamed brighter.

Not another one? The club attracted would-be creeps and admirers. It was hard to tell the difference between the two from the other side of the bar. She hastily backtracked. ‘Sure. I know all my regulars. Do you write poetry?’

‘I’m not sure it’s any good.’

‘Ahhh, you should perform a piece one night. It’s a friendly crowd. They won’t bite.’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe. It could be fun... Do you write?’

‘Prose,’ she answered. ‘Nothing published. What book is that?’

‘Plath.’ He flashed the cover at her. ‘You like Sylvia Plath?’

‘I guess I have a thing for desperate sorrow.’ His face flushed and he appeared vulnerable.

She nodded, warming to him again. ‘There’s a lot of that in this town.’

‘I’m Daniel.’ He extended his exquisitely manicured right hand.

Her hand met his halfway across the bar. Her chewed fingernails, chipped purple