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From Chapter 1
“Run!” The breath that accompanied the voice in Mary’s ear felt colder than the recycled air blasting through the dashboard vent.
She was smothered by darkness, unbroken except for needle-points of blinking stars far above the towering treetops. Her nose burned with the acidic perfume of conifers while her ears caught the sharp sounds of pine needles snapping underfoot. Adrenaline spurred her onward as she sprinted between ancient trunks, knowing that if she were caught, she too would die.
Not a dream— she wasn’t asleep. Was it an exhaustion-induced hallucination?
Mary was in the passenger seat of their minivan— her husband, Chuck, behind the wheel and her children in the backseat. She shivered uncontrollably while staring in disbelief at the superimposed woodland which obscured the road ahead. Her desert-dry eyes pulsed.
“What?” she asked out loud.
Chuck glanced at her briefly, his forehead furrowed by a frown before returning his concentration to the road ahead. “I didn’t say a word,” he snapped.
“Eric? Anita?”
Eric, at fifteen, was frequently lost in his own world, but Anita had the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a rabbit— a five-year-old who missed nothing and would surely be able to provide the validation Mary needed. Both kids glanced up from their electronic devices and shook their heads. Mary noted their bleary-eyed stares and realized even Anita’s senses had been dulled by the monotony of travel.
After four days on the road and three nights spent in cheap motel rooms that stank of other people’s sweat, the atmosphere in the minivan had the weight and darkness of a burgeoning storm. Her family was wrapped in blankets of resentment, and Mary could taste their anger. None of them wanted to leave Seattle, and all of them blamed her for forcing the move.
“None of you heard the voice?” The sharp, plaintive tone of Mary’s question grated on her nerves. “It sounded old and female.”
“Must have been a dream. You didn’t sleep well last night,” Chuck said.
From Chapter 3
The house was silent as he padded across the landing wrapped in a towel. An electric fan stood next to his bed. He switched it on and felt the gentle caress of its breeze. Lying on top of his covers in a pair of boxer shorts with his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling where the shadows of roses and tree branches danced across the white plaster.
The whirring of the fan and rustling of leaves became a secret language that tickled his ears and lulled him to sleep. They told him he could hide here until his father came to protect him.
His knees were against his chest. He tried to straighten, but he was jammed against a wall. He knew he must stay silent, must not be found. Male voices and footsteps echoed beyond the flimsy wall. Both the thunder of feet and the growl of words sounded angry.
“Where is he? We know you’re hiding him here.”
A woman sobbed, pleaded. “There’s no one here.”
Darkness was torn from him as the barrier between Eric and the men was ripped away and thrown across the attic. Hands grabbed his hair and yanked him into the moonlit room. He tried to concentrate on the eaves, but pallid, grotesque faces blocked his view. Some screamed obscenities while others cackled at his terror.
Grabbing claws and gaping maws closed in on him, smothering him as they congealed into a mass of flesh and rage, swallowing him. He struggled against the oppressive weight that was pressed against his nose and mouth, stealing his breath. His heart bruised his ribs, and his mouth tasted of rusted metal.
“Why?” he yelled. “Why?”
A door opened and small hands pulled the death-shroud from his face. His sister’s eyes looked huge in the dark room and shone with tears.
“Eric,” she said, stroking his hair. “Wake up, Eric. Please, I’m scared.”
“I’m awake,” he whispered and sat up.
From chapter 6
“Whatcha thinking about, bug?” he asked.
“You know how Grandma Susie and Grandpa Robert in Seattle used to tell me and Eric stories about when they were young?”
“I do. They always have stories, don’t they?” Chuck smiled.
“And they’re kinda old, right?”
“Kinda,” he replied. His mom would smack him upside the head if she heard that.
“And this house is really, really old, right?”
“That’s right. Your Great Aunt Blanche lived here her whole life.”
“I think this house has lots of stories too. That’s why we hear the voices. It’s been waiting for someone to listen, like Grandma Susie and Grandpa Robert.”
Chuck shivered because he thought she was right.
From Chapter 6
They drank their lemonade in silence while Chuck mustered courage to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. “Arthur, do you mind if I ask you a really strange question?”
“Not at all. You don’t get to my age without hearing it all. And if I ain’t heard it, then it’s time I should,” he replied, wiping the corners of his mouth.
“Did anything bad happen in this house?” Chuck asked, checking to see if anyone else heard, despite knowing they were alone.
“You mean aside from Blanche dying here?”
“Yeah, aside from that. Anything… tragic?”
“You thinkin’ you got a haint?” Arthur replied in the same flat, no nonsense tone.
“A haint?”
“A ghost. Haint’s what the old timers called it, but I reckon you ain’t gonna’ know nothin’ about that coming from the big city,” he explained.
An Interview with Carmilla Voiez
Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!
I used to run a Gothic Clothing company and we decided that a disused asylum would be the perfect place for a photo shoot. Having obtained permission, we camped out there for a day, but it was very spooky and the wind howled through windows and made zombie noises that were just a little too atmospheric at times. There was an old bathtub which was due to be scrapped, and we had made fake blood to drip down it. I was doing this while one of the models was getting changed. She came in wearing a distressed black dress and yellow contact lenses. I saw her from the corner of my eye, thought she was the living dead and screamed. Afterwards, she told me that my reaction inspired her to rock that outfit in the photos, and they were incredible.
What are some of your pet peeves?
Writers who refuse to read books. You’d be surprised how many writers are proud that they don’t read. I cannot fathom why someone would want to create in a medium that they don’t love or at least appreciate.
How to find time to write as a parent?
It’s easier now I have teenagers. Mum is the last person they want to hang out with. When they were younger, I would wake up around 5 am and write for a couple of hours before they started their day.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less!
Gothic, feminist, thoughtful, empathetic, socialist.
What can we expect from you in the future?
I am currently writing an urban fantasy set in a women’s prison, while my artist is painting the pages for our third graphic novel.
Anything specific you want to tell your readers?
You are the most important part of writing and if you take the time to review a book, you are a hero. Thank you.
What are your top 10 favorite authors?
Clive Barker, Toni Morrison, Iain Banks, Victor Lavalle, Sarah Waters, Arundhati Roy, Storm Constantine, Douglas Adams, Thomas Ligotti and Adam Nevill.
Do you read yourself and if so what is your favorite genre?
I love reading. I read across a wide range of genres including non-fiction, but Horror and Fantasy are my favourites.
Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?
Silence, so I can hear the voices clearly.
Carmilla Voiez is proudly pansexual, and an autistic introvert who finds writing much easier than verbal communication. A lifelong Goth, she is passionate about horror, the alt scene, intersectional feminism, art, nature and animals. She lives by the sea in North Scotland and is studying an Arts and Humanities (Creating Writing) BA(Hons) degree.
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."
Carmilla’s bibliography includes The Venus Virus, The Starblood (four book) Series, Starblood the graphic novel, Psychonaut the graphic novel, The Ballerina and the Revolutionary, Broken Mirror and Other Morbid Tales. Her short stories have been included in Zombie Punks Fuck Off, Another Beautiful Nightmare, Elements of Horror: Water, D is for Demons, Trembling With Fear, and Sirens Call Magazine.
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Faith Marlow is a USA Today best selling author of dark fantasy/ paranormal/ horror. Her stories stir emotions and explore the thin veil between human and the inhuman. Dark, yet inviting and familiar, Faith seeks to deliver chills with a sense of class, and sometimes a bit of heat. With each story, she hopes to build exposure for fellow women authors and artists who create horror.
Her debut, "Being Mrs. Dracula", chronicles the lives of Count Dracula's three beautiful, yet very different wives, Valeria, Ilona, and Fleur. The story continues with "Being Dracula's Widow" and the third installment of the series "Being Dracula's Heir". The fourth book is currently in development.
Faith's latest project, the "Scorned Women" series launched in 2020 with its first book, a retelling of the story of Medusa. Each book in this series will focus on a different woman in and seek to give them a second chance.
Faith is also proud to be featured in multiple short story anthologies. When she isn't writing or reading, she enjoys spending time with family and friends, watching a horror movie, online shopping for Funko Pop! figures, at a rock show, or entertaining her house panther, Teddy. She lives in Tennessee with her husband, Scottie, and son, Avery.
To find out more, visit her website at www.faithmarlow.com
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
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