The Queen of Trauma Llama, Ms. Bronwyn Green officially has a rival. Today marks Cat and Lynx Raven’s THIRD entry into the Trauma Llama series. I don’t know what that makes them. Are they co-rulers? All I know is they’re ALL badass and if you’re not following them, FO SHAME, YO!
Here is their blog.


Before we get to the trauma, check out their new book Soul Asylum. Here’s the blurb:

The blood wanted to prick a conscience that couldn’t bleed.
Poe could keep his telltale heart.
I couldn’t hear it beating.

Ravens Retreat harbours a sinister secret. Inside its blackened heart lurk the ghosts of patients and staff who died when the asylum was burned down in 1904. Over a hundred years later, the West wing survives and now the patients want revenge.

Their eternal repose is disturbed by a malevolent poltergeist and the ghost tours led by the asylum’s resident, Phineas Soul, which attract the attention of journalist Mason Strider. His attempts to expose Phineas as a fraud have catastrophic consequences when it is Ravens Retreat’s dark heart that’s exposed as it awakens to claim the lives of those who dare to enter its brutal past.

Some things should never be disturbed.

Buy on Amazon US, Amazon UK and Smashwords.


Here is the lovely ladies’ third Trauma Llama tale:

When we’re not writing, we’re inflicting our shambolic amateur ghost hunting show, Calamityville Horror on the world. For those of you who haven’t seen it (and that’s probably most of you) it involves us and our mate, Ryan Ashcroft, visiting haunted places, getting lost and putting Most Haunted to shame with our witty repertoire and slick professionalism. That and laughing and pointing every time Ryan falls over. Told you we’re professional.

In fact, there aren’t many episodes that don’t involve us getting lost, resulting in frayed tempers and plenty of swearing. But our trip to Nottingham’s Galleries of Justice was different and will haunt us more than any ghosts.

We’d arranged to meet fellow author and ghost hunter, L K Jay at the museum. Yes, we ignore Government warnings,  meet with up strangers we’ve met online and go ghost hunting with them. Though this was the second time we’d met her and she proved not to be a murderer. But we were late and lost. We had directions to the museum, but for some reason, they didn’t match the city. You’d think such a big tourist attraction would be signposted. It wasn’t. We drove around the city, confused and marvelling at the fact they have trams.

We drove through the city centre a few times, at one time reaching a crossroads. We idled in the middle of it while we checked for sign posts and with the windows tightly shut, shouted at the crowds of people all walking on the roads around us. Then we noticed the crossroads had no road markings. In fact, we were the only car driving through this part of the city centre.

Yes. We were driving through a pedestrianised shopping zone.

No wonder people were staring. Didn’t help being in the only hot orange Mini Cooper convertible in the city.

Our map was useless, we were panicking and each second that passed got more and more uncomfortable under the shoppers’ judging gazes.  In the end, Lynx wound down her window and asked a passing pedestrian if we were in a pedestrian zone. He didn’t know. At this point, there was a car behind us, so it was too late to turn back. Plus the road we’d come down, was one-way. We couldn’t go back, shouldn’t go forward. We were trapped. There was only thing left to do – drive through it as fast as possible and pray to the gods of traffic there was no CCTV. Shoppers hurried out of the way, which was just as well, as we were too embarrassed to stop. The best thing to do in these situations, is act like you’re supposed to be there.

Hugely embarrassed and praying we didn’t get fined, we fled the scene. Pedestrians screamed as they dived for safety, old men shook their fists at us, children cried when we snatched their ice creams as we shot past. Well, we were heading for an old jail, we figured bad behaviour was a must.

Ok. That’s a lie. But we did drive straight through it.

Did we learn our lesson?

No.

Onto Oxford. This time we were meeting another writer, Cinta Garcia de la Rosa, for another episode of Calamityville Horror. (See above note on meeting up with strangers we’ve only ever spoken to online). But this time we were prepared. We had four maps – one set of directions to Oxford Castle, one set to the park and ride and TWO maps of the city centre with parking areas clearly marked.

This time would be different.

This time we wouldn’t fail. We LAUGHED in the face of failure.

Oxford had other plans. What our maps didn’t tell us, was which streets were one-way streets and that the entrances to the multi-storey car parks were better concealed than a Government cover-up. We drove around the city centre several times, ending up on the same street about four times. One entrance to the car park was for buses only, the other was for deliveries. But they didn’t tell you that until you were in the designated lane, trapped into embarrassing yourself.  We have, to put it a nicely, a Celtic temperament. Do we stay calm, pull over, check the maps and ask people for directions? No we do not. We shout, swear, curse the cities with terrible plagues and forget we’re on camera.

We decided to head back to the multi-storey from a different way and drove down the deserted street. We wondered whether this was another pedestrian zone, as it was paved but by this point we didn’t care. A man up ahead ran for his life as a hot orange Mini was bearing down on him. We stopped at the end, furious and trying to decide which way to go. Then we noticed the sign – Pedestrian Zone Ends. And we were stopped right at the junction. Even worse, we were stopping a bus from entering. We sped off, vowing never to darken Oxford’s door again. Again we hoped there were no CCTV cameras. If English city councils ever get together, they’ll notice a common element – a hot orange Mini Cooper convertible flouting their pedestrian traffic laws and terrorising the good citizens.

It ended well – we made it to the castle and met the lovely Cinta. Who also turned out not to be a murderer. And our tour guide, Duncan, was a hotty. So maybe karma was rewarding us for our daring derring-do. Hmm…our home town of Cardiff has a very busy pedestrian zone. Wonder what will happen if we drive through that one…Tally ho!

 

Remind me not to walk on the sidewalks in Wales 😉

Do you have a Trauma Llama story you’d like to share? Prod me on Twitter (@AnyaBreton) or e-mail me anya at anyabreton.com 🙂