C.L. Raven's Blog, page 19

Treasure Hunting

Avast all ye villainous knaves and scurvy biscuit eaters! Today be Talk Like A Pirate Day and we have some booty to share with you. But the way to the hidden treasure will be filled with quests and only when the quests have been completed, shall ye gain the treasure ye seek. But fear not land lubbers, although ye must travel into unfamiliar waters, the Raven flag will protect you from marauding pirates.  We are not alone on this treasure hunt, for we shall sail with two other pirates. And the treasure? Free ebooks from the good ships Raven, Jeremy Shory and Reece Bridger. Here be portraits of the treasure to be claimed by only the bravest pirates:

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.

 

Fate guides him. Magic controls him. Evil awaits him.

When fourteen year old Orion Martins ventures deep into the forest behind his New Hampshire home, he’s quickly lured into a sadistic game of life and death where the prize is the fate of two worlds. After uncovering a hidden land ruled by enchantment and magic, wicked schemes and dark family secrets begin to expose a perilous trail of deception he’s been destined to travel. Can the mysteries trapped inside an ancient journal unlock the enigmas of his past, assuring his victory over an ancient mastermind long believed to have vanished? The board is set and the pieces are ready to be played.

Three weeks ago, Orion knew he would avenge his father’s murder. Three days ago, he knew there was nothing beyond our own unforgiving world. Three hours ago, he knew magic only existed within the depths of his imagination. Three minutes from now, he’ll discover just how wrong he’s been.

The first move has been made. Will Orion risk his own life to save all of ours?

 

 

During a ceasefire of a war that has taken more lives than could be considered just, there are shadows of betrayal and deceit lurking in the rays of the morning sun. Something is lingering on the horizon, and it’s hell-bent on destruction, despair and death.

Whatever it may be, it’s driven the Goddess to some very desperate measures.

Life for the Harmon siblings has been hard enough, but now they face responsibilities that they never asked for. They never asked for power. They never asked for a world of monsters. They never asked to come face-to-face with demons, the corrupted of their own people, or their own mortality.

But that is just what they will have to do. They are the chosen heroes of Cornelia, the final hope for order and sanity, the last line of defence against the darkness.

They are the Buan.

 

 

It may be Talk Like  Pirate Day, but we’s be breaking the pirate’s code to tell tales of the rules in English:

The scavenger hunt starts on October 1st and will run for 6 weeks, with a new hunt starting every Tuesday.

Each week there will be 9 questions for you to answer (3 per website) and the answers will be somewhere in our blogs. That’s why it’s a treasure hunt – have to dig for the booty ye scurvy bilge rats!

Once you have discovered the treasure ye seek, reply to whichever blog is hosting the hunt for that week. The first 3 correct replies will win the bundle of 3 ebooks (one from each of us). Once you’ve won, you’re not eligible to win again. We don’t passing ships firing their cannons to steal your booty!

Jeremy and us will also have extra treasure. Somewhere on our blogs will be a hidden link, which when clicked will reward you. On Jeremy’s blog it will be with a free advanced copy of The Orion Chronicles: Curse of the Phantom Brotherhood, which is due out later this year. On our blog, it will be a copy of Deadly Reflections. The link could be hidden in a picture, a word or it could be a particular blog post.

So go forth, prepare your ships, polish your telescopes and tell yer crew you’ll be setting sail soon. Thar be treasure on these shores.

 

To the End

*Stands on Casa Raven battlements with a victory flag and a town crier’s bell* Hear ye! Hear ye! *Drops bell. Watches guiltily as it hits a peasant below* Whoops. Anyhoo, we’d like to announce that our ghost story collection, Deadly Reflections is finished! */* Here’s to never having to read them again! Though we’re excited about the release now. We think we’ve worked harder on this collection than we have on any other. We started it in March and 8 of the 13 stories were already written. Weirdly, it was the oldest story, which the collection is named after, that caused us the most problems – and that one was published by Dark Fire Fiction a couple of years ago, so technically shouldn’t have needed much work. But now the stories are polished so much we almost blind ourselves when we open them They’ve also been formatted and are ready to go! The hardest part about finishing them a month early will be stopping ourselves from giving them another edit…

Fans of Calamityville Horror might recognise some of the places that feature in the collection, as a couple of the stories were inspired by our ghost hunting visits. Though obviously they are a fictionalised account – the stories have ghosts in them for a start As anyone who watches the show will know, ghosts are about the only thing we don’t find. There’s also a strong Welsh link in some of them, which we hope non-Welsh people might find interesting.

We’re bringing them out in print as well. We’ve seen a rough draft of the cover Lizzie’s drawn and it’s just incredible. It’s spooky how in sync our minds are! We gave her free reign on the design and she’s created something that’s perfect. Now that it’s done we’re excited about the project. The trailer’s almost complete *shakes fists at Power Director* The tentative release date is October 13th, as there’s 13 stories and it’s 2013. We like playing with Fate. We can’t wait to see it in print so we can stroke the cover in a totally creepy serial killer way.

Unusually for us, after finishing the formatting, we then took the evening off and chilled out by playing Mortal Kombat 9. Very gory and funny, so it’s the perfect game for us. Anyone else might have taken a break from work in the run up to a release, but  if we’re not working, we’re lost. We got a rejection today – we suspected it would get rejected as there were 1100 entries and the editor had already commissioned some stories so getting in the anthology was slim to start with! But having re-read the story we’re still happy with it so we spent today re-editing it and we’re looking for somewhere else to submit it to. It’s a historical horror and the first of its kind for us. We also found another few horror magazines/anthologies we plan to submit to. And now Deadly Reflections is done we can get back to ghost hunting! Turns out, Pennard Castle in the Gower is haunted by the Gwrach y Rhibyn, who features in one of the stories in Deadly Reflections. We just hope she doesn’t say our names and drag us down to Hell…though it would be warm down there and it’s about time Hell had a new leader…

Nightmare on Mary Ann Street

this Joker’s smile was genuine

Yesterday we got to do something we’ve wanted to do for ages – attend a Comic Con. Our American friends, particularly Scott & Desi, have attended loads and we’re always jealous of their photos and the cool people they seem to meet. But now it was our turn. Cardiff hosted its first ever Comic Con and as soon as we heard the Iron Throne was going to be there, we booked tickets. Then we found out one of our horror heroes would be there – Robert Englund. Now we had two reasons for going – to sit on the Iron Throne and get a photo with Freddy Krueger. We didn’t care who else would be there.

General Lee

Then on Wednesday, Cat had her third knee operation. Any sensible person would have missed Comic Con, but the lure of the throne and Freddy was too great. But with the nerves of the operation, we hadn’t planned our outfits. We’d originally planned to go as Miss Freddy Krueger, as we thought it would make a great photo, but we thought everyone would be going as Freddy and we didn’t want to be clones. Then we thought of going as Sweet Pea and Blondie from Sucker Punch – we’ve used those outfits a lot. On Friday, we finally thought up our outfits – creating our own Game of Thrones characters. We’d be from House Raven and dress in black. Our House motto is “They’ll never take us alive!” So we set about creating costumes from our own clothes and using Sweet Pea’s hooded cloak. On the morning of Comic Con, our mum thought of a great addition to our outfits – our ravens. So she constructed a harness to strap them to us and we were ready to go.

James O’Barr sketching

We booked the Early Bird tickets and got there at 9:20. The first thing we saw was General Lee. The car was stunning and apparently cost £7000 to restore to the condition it’s in now. Wish we could’ve taken it for a spin but don’t think Comic Con’s organisers would appreciate an arena full of flattened, injured fans, even with the Dixie horn signalling our triumph. We spent a lot of time trying to find the Iron Throne then got distracted when we found the table of James O’ Barr, the creator of The Crow graphic novels.

The Crow creator and House Raven

We stood there watching him sketch, like creepy voyeurs before we bought prints and asked him to sign them. He then agreed to have a photo with us and asked Cat what happened to her knee. We advised him exercise was dangerous and she was living proof of it. He loved the ravens on our shoulders, which of course, is homage to Eric Draven as he’s pictured with the crow on his shoulder.

claiming the Iron Throne

We wandered the various stalls. Mostly we couldn’t see much ‘cos we’re pixie sized and the stalls were crowded. You could barely squeeze through the aisles and on crutches this was even harder. People don’t part for the injured. We eventually tracked down the Iron Throne in the foyer and queued. We wanted to sit on together but couldn’t both fit on the seat so took turns sitting on it with the other one resting on the side. House Raven finally conquered the Iron Throne and now the Seven Kingdoms are ours! And we are vengeful rulers. MWAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAA! The other kingdoms will now cower in fear of us and our cuddly ravens.

Our friend, Scott always takes photos of people in costume, so we were inspired to do the same. So many people asked to have photos taken with us or to take our photo. We now know how the celebrities must feel. We should’ve started charging, earned some Red Bull money Lots of people complimented our outfits, with one lady even saying they were the best outfits there. There were so many amazing outfits there we don’t think this is true, especially as they were our own clothes The most popular outfit for girls was Harleyquinn, with their boyfriend as the Joker, but the majority of people weren’t dressed up. There were four Daenerys’s we saw and we nabbed someone dressed as Jon Snow in his Night’s Watch outfit for a photo.

Ryan & Trevor Steedman

Ryan got to meet Trevor Steedman, who played Wierzbowski in Aliens. Ryan’s a massive Aliens fan and sitting beside Trevor was Collette Hiller, who played Ferro. They were both lovely. Then it was time for our photo with Robert Englund. We queued upstairs and when we finally got into the room, watched everyone having their photo taken. Most people just smiled, a few men acted scared and Robert was brilliant, wearing his finger knife glove and enjoying himself. Then he spotted us. He called out “2 Goth girls! Fresh meat!” and laughed evilly. How could he tell we were Goths when we were in costume? Clearly our inner Goths are always shining through Up to that point, we hadn’t heard him speak to anyone. Then we got to the front and asked to both go in the photo. We were the only women who joined in with Robert’s messing around and pulled snarling faces. Then he told us how much he loved our outfits. We told him about nearly coming as Miss Krueger but deciding against it. He said we looked amazing We were the only ones he spoke to afterwards. He was so nice, really friendly, and the rest of the room had to wait for their photos while he chatted to us

Ryan and Lance Henriksen

We wandered downstairs again then while Ryan was talking to a stall owner, we went for a walk to ease Cat’s knee pain and Lynx’s back. We reached the back doors then they opened, and one of the men who came through, pointed to us then spoke to the guy beside him. We glanced back. It was Lance Henriksen! Lance pointed at us! Then we saw him having his photo taken with a guy so Lynx dashed back to fetch Ryan. Lance played Bishop in Aliens and we couldn’t let Ryan miss this opportunity. They came back just in time and we took a photo of him and Ryan together then we had a photo with him We took tickets for Robert’s autograph but in an hour only 100 people had gone through so we had a long wait. We ended up sitting on the stairs in the foyer as Cat’s knee was too painful to stand up any longer and those who were sitting on the few seats in the arena didn’t offer to give up their seat so she could sit, despite them being able to see her big bandage. The only negative about the event was the lack of seating. There were several people on crutches and plenty of space at the sides for extra seats. Cat had to sit on the floor and when you can’t bend your knee, getting down to the floor is difficult.

hanging out with two Doctor Whos

We kept going back to the autograph queue but we were over 200 people still to go. but after a couple of hours, the lady in charge of the tickets took pity on us and let us in the queue as Cat couldn’t stand up any longer. When we finally got to the front, Robert said “My favourite ladies of this Saturday! How did the photo turn out?” We couldn’t believe he remembered us. He’d had his photo taken with hundreds of people and signed over 300 autographs by this point, yet he remembered us! We showed him the photos and he loved them, commenting on the tongues pose. He then signed one of them with “To C L Raven, sleep killz. Robert B Englund.” The reason his queue took so much longer than everyone else’s was because he took the time to speak to every person.

We’ve now got a taste for Comic Con and hope Cardiff host another one. Only this time we’ll be better prepared and hopefully, neither of us will be on crutches.

one, two, Freddy’s coming for you

Ghost Writing

Wow, it’s been almost a month since we unlocked the doors of Ravens Retreat *gets tangled in cobwebs* We’ve been trying to think of something to blog about for a fortnight, but we had nothing to say, so rather than ramble on, we kept quiet. We’re of the opinion, if you have nothing to say, don’t say anything. Boring everyone for the sake of banishing silence is a bad thing. The reason for the silence is the damn ghost stories.  We’d hoped to release the collection, Deadly Reflections this month. We started the bloody thing in March and 8 of the 13 were already written. We even printed out the stories double spaced for their final error check. We were so close to the end, we could smell the freshly bound book. Then we hit a snag:

The stories weren’t good enough.

And we were sick of reading them. There are a couple of stories in there that were written years ago. One is from 2008 and it’s even been published. But we weren’t happy with the ending, so we rewrote it. Some of the stories we were fairly happy with, but the others were really stressing us out. The darkshines were encroaching and we were this close to throwing the whole collection into the nearest fiery lake.

So in order to save what little remains of our sanities, we’ve decided not to release the collection this month. In fact, it’s not going to be released until October. We’d originally planned October for Scott the Zombie’s release, but that novel needs major reconstructive surgery to get it even halfway decent. October will be a nice tie-in with Halloween – perfect for ghost stories. So we took a two week break and wrote a new story then redrafted two of our favourite stories, which are yet to be published. And during that break, the darkshines descended with horrific force, leaving us in a state of unbearable depression for 7 days that was so bad even the endorphins from exercise couldn’t help us, and hiding in our imaginary worlds couldn’t shake off our demons.

Then yesterday, Cat had a third operation on her knee. Luckily it was only a debridement, where they removed dead tissue, but it means she’ll be on crutches for a few weeks before beginning yet another recovery period. She was more upset at having to give up zumba and squash, but at least we’ll have more time to work on the collection. Half the stories have been redrafted again and we think they’re ready. It’s just the second half that’s causing us problems. Nothing we do to them seems to work. We will never be happy with them, they’re just not good enough. We can’t face writing several new ones, we’ve run out of ideas for ghost stories. Even after a 2 week break, the thought of editing those ones is putting us off working. It’s felt like running on a treadmill – you’re doing all the hard work and getting nowhere but the timer’s counting down and you can’t get off.

It’s the creative person’s worst enemies – doubt and fear. Creative people are always critical of themselves, their work, it doesn’t matter how many times people tell them it’s good, they only remember it when it was bad. Then there’s the fear it will never be good, that what you release will never be as good as your previous work, even though you secretly believed your previous work was also crap. We never read our work once it’s been published, mostly because we can’t bear to, in case it’s as bad as we remember it being during the redrafting stages. Or in case we spot mistakes.

We haven’t set a date in October yet, but it will definitely be that month. If it isn’t, you’ll know the collection is sinking into a fiery lake somewhere.

2.8 Hours Later

Zoe, Neen & Lynx ready to do battle

Last night the Zombie Apocalypse hit Cardiff. A group of survivors gathered in the NCP car park on Dumfries Place and out of these survivors, a crack team was formed – horror writers C L Raven, Tiger Bay Brawlers Neen and Zoe Wilder, Gimpic medallist Hannah Hunter, Superman’s alter-ego, Rich Bundy, zombie enthusiast Mike Morton and zombie bait, Ryan Ashcroft. Little did the boys know, they were purely there to be sacrificed. Especially after Ryan realised he had left his bag of supplies in the car. And they thought we’d invited them along for the company.

The city was the second safest in the UK. Survival rates in Newport were only 2 %, but nobody goes to Newport anyway. We were sanitised, given maps and told to head to the Welfare Office by St. Andrews Church. Our nerves were strung tighter than guitar strings, our senses on high alert as we slipped out of the car park and headed for St. Andrews. Every car, wall or bin was a potential zombie hiding place. We gave paranoia a bad name. We hadn’t even left our first road when Rich was hobbled by a stone in his shoe. We had our first dilemma – wait and protect him or leave him for the zombies. The group went ahead. We stayed back, Lynx filming, Cat wielding her crutch like a club. We all survived. We reached the Welfare Office didn’t encounter a single zombie, but we hit a snag. We didn’t have the required documents to enter the city.

our map

We were now illegals.

Cardiff Castle

And we had to make it to the castle. This fell in with our plan, as we’ve always said that when the ZomPoc hits, we will take over Cardiff Castle. This was our chance. We were a bit suspicious when we queued with other survivors on the bridge. This was starting to feel like an ambush, that they were using our queuing mentality against us. After a while, we were at the front of the slaughter queue. We hurried up the stairs to the long passage. Having been here on Halloween events, we knew there were alcoves, where hungry zombies could hide. We crept along the passage, seeking the zombies. We met a doctor outside the air raid tunnels, who told us we had to find Major Ray to get our documents. As we passed her, the patients on the beds groaned. We fled.

the air raid tunnels

Major Ray was apparently holed up in Knox Road car park by the jail. We headed down Queen Street. Mike ran on ahead, not to scout for zombies, but to visit Burger King. He soon returned with dreadful news – the zombies were outside Burger King. And Queen Street was full of shoppers. We spied the first zombie on the left and darted right – towards another zombie. The team separated as we all tried avoiding the zombies and shoppers. We might all have been friends but as soon as the threat of zombies hit, it was every person for themselves. Think we all surprised ourselves with how willing we were to let each other be mauled. Lynx was able to use shoppers as cover and we all made it through unscathed. The shoppers stopped and stared as zombies lurched towards us and we ran through town’s busiest shopping street yelling “zombies!” Not once did we create mass panic.

We made it to Knox car park where Cat had her crutches confiscated. They must have taken one look at her crazed zombie-killing eyes and decided that leaving her with potential weapons was not a safe thing to do. Cat pointed to her strapped up knee and Lynx explained about her operation but health and safety intervened. Her only hope was adrenaline would mask the pain. In the car park, three zombies shuffled around, guarding supplies and the task was to grab the supplies. We sent the boys in. Being so tall, they were much quicker than the short arsed females in the team and we did say we would sacrifice them. They did us proud, grabbed the supplies and avoided getting bitten. Our strategy was working.

We headed off, passing a hotel which had a lot of pillars outside. Cat and Zoe headed right, discussing the possibility of zombies hiding amongst the pillars. Then Zoe leapt out, snarling. Ryan screamed and back peddalled, nearly trampling Lynx. Then it was on to John Street, where Major Ray was being detained by police officers and anyone caught associating with him would be quarantined. But we were illegals and obeying the police was not on our agenda. Major Ray escaped and gave us the co-ordinates to a van that would ferry us away. We got to the van to find the driver lying beside it with his guts spilling out. We told him he was on his own, but he had the co-ordinates to the next location. We had to help him. He needed his pills, which were in the back of the van. Guarded by zombies. But his guts were hanging out. He was beyond the help of Ibuprofen.

the van driver

None of the pills were in reaching distance of us short armed lot so again the boys were sent to fulfil the task, which they did. With the van out of action we had to make it to the asylum on foot, and found ourselves in a gated off area in the back streets. We had to squeeze through gates guarded by zombies then collect supplies whilst being chased by much quicker zombies.

Then we reached the Kill Zone.

Some people ran left, behind a wall. Rich, Ryan and Zoe ran right, behind parked cars. We realised this too late and ran straight down the middle of the road. Into a horde of zombies. Cat tried dodging an exceptionally fast male zombie but he cornered her by a van and marked her. Lynx saw her being grabbed and ran to save her, realising her mistake too late. He marked her too. Neen was marked by a female zombie and Hannah was cornered by 3 of them and mauled. We dodged the others and reached the asylum, to be told we needed to fetch medical supplies. Another group sent their infected back out. We sent the survivors out. Lynx went along to film and walked right through the zombies. Mike was marked during the hunt for medical supplies. They found the supplies and returned.

INFECTED

Then it on to the contamination tents. The survivors were herded into a fenced off area and those who’d been marked were scanned for infection. Mike was clean so joined the survivors. Us, Neen and Hannah were stamped as INFECTED. We were then taken into another tent and made into zombies. We had one request – “Lots of blood please.”

We moved into a warehouse for the zombie disco and got to pose for a photo. Us zombified ones stood behind our survivors, pretending to maul them. Zoe’s screaming, Mike is in Rich’s arms, and Ryan didn’t realise what was happening so is sitting front centre, beaming and showing off his SURVIVOR stamp. We still can’t believe he survived.

We asked one of the workers for Cat’s crutches as she was now paying the price for running. The guy phoned someone and said they’d arrive in half an hour then he said to Cat “Apparently you have some really cool dinosaur stickers.” Cat “Yes I have.” She’d decorated her crutches with Halloween and dinosaur stickers. The crutches eventually arrived about 11:30 so we all left. We must’ve looked a right sight – a zombie with a video camera, another zombie on crutches. But we made it home without anyone else getting bitten.

One word of advice – if the zombie apocalypse hits Cardiff for real, do not form allegiance with our group. We will sacrifice you to save ourselves. This trial run has shown us how ruthless we all are. We may all be lovely, fun people, but we are also programmed to survive, and if that means tossing you into a zombie’s path, last night proved we will do it. But the effects of being zombies seems to have worn off.

Except we now have a sudden urge to chase down screaming pedestrians…

Zombie apocalypse

We see dead people

Fuelled by our love of ghosts and our ghost hunting show, Calamityville Horror, in March we decided our next release would be a collection of ghost stories. 13, to be precise. It’s our favourite number and one most associated with horror. Even better was we already had 8 stories written. Simple. We would have this collection out in no time!

It’s now the end of July. And we still have one story left to write.

The problem is, after writing 8 ghost stories, we kinda ran out of ideas. This happened with Disenchanted when after 8 stories, we ran out of ideas on how to twist the fairy tales. And one of these ghost stories was entered into Writing Magazine’s paranormal story competition. If it won, that left us with 7 stories for our collection. But it would earn us a lot more money by itself than the entire collection would ever earn us. Yes, we know there’s a romantic notion of starving artists writing for the love of their craft, but this is reality. Romanticism doesn’t pay the bills, or keep us in Red Bull.

The story didn’t win. So we remain poor but at least it gives us one less story to write. Yay. Sort of. Whilst we were waiting to hear if we’d won, we killed time by editing two novels and going ghost hunting.

Our overnight ghost investigation at Rothley’s Edwardian train station gave us one story. A ghost legend about wraiths and another about a ghost smuggler in a British ghosts book gave two more. Then we watched the film Mama. It was based on a 3 minute film of the same title. So we watched both versions and the director said he loved the original film because it was very short and very scary. We decided we should do the same. Write a very short, very scary story. We just needed an idea. We’ve always loved the creepiness of ghost brides; except we created a ghost bride in our Bad Romance trilogy, and really, what else could we do with a dead bride? But we had no other ideas. The tricky thing was making it completely different to Kill the Bride. We think we’ve managed this but we’re so desensitised to horror that it takes a lot to scare us, and we never find our work scary.

But this week we feel we’re finally making progress. We’ve got a collection of images for the trailer and have made a file of potential music tracks to go with them.  8 of the stories have been printed out double spaced – this is our final stage. The error check. We look for mistakes, repetition in words or phrases with all the stories and make any last changes before once again handing them to our mum for an extra pair of eyes. Two of the remaining stories have been subjected to more redrafts this weekend because we’re still not happy with them. Actually it’s very rare we ever feel a story is ‘done’ and these two are actually the oldest in the collection.

We still have one to write. Luckily, we know what this one will be about. So hopefully by Tuesday the final story will be finished then the intensive redrafts can begin to bring it up to the same standard as the others, which are way ahead. We’re aiming for an August/September release and it finally feels like it’s happening.

Two of the stories still don’t have titles. Neither does the last, unwritten one. Did we say August/September? We meant October…

The Ancient Ram Inn

Last night we stayed at what is the Mecca for ghost hunters – The Ancient Ram Inn. And we travelled there in style, in Calamityville Horror’s newest member’s camper van. Neen joined us on Calamityville’s Edinburgh adventure and has never left. And what was even better was her mum lent her a newer model of Sony Handycam with night vision. We spent two and a half series without night vision, and suddenly we have two cameras. We started off checking out St Mary’s church, which is apparently joined to the Ram via secret tunnels. We strutted in wearing our noisy cowboy boots, which echoed on the tiled floor. And found a group of children having choir practise. They all turned and stared. We explored the church trying to walk as quietly as possible but each footstep sounded like a gunshot. We left.

The owner of the Ram, John, sadly has dementia so every time he saw us, he forgot who we were and why we there. Luckily, Neen’s uncle Rob has lived in Wootten-under-Edge for years and has even done several investigations at the Inn, so John remembered him. As we sat in the van, a loud THUD! hit the roof. We pulled the ladder down then Cat climbed onto the roof to check it out. There was nothing there. Then the motor for the camper step died. It has died before so this was just a coincidence.

We did a daylight walk through at 8 p.m. after visiting the pub. John told us not to come back sober But we did. The Ram is amazing. John’s a hoarder so the place was crammed with interesting objects and hasn’t been cleaned in probably over 30 years. The most dangerous thing in this place was the dust and the uneven stairs. It was built in 1145 on a 5000 year old pagan burial ground. In the bar area is an open grave where daggers and children’s bones were found.

the ancient grave in the bar

The University of Bristol has confirmed the age of the daggers, so it’s possible it was a ritualistic killing. As we passed through the curtains to the bar area, Cat’s head was swimming. It’s the same feeling you get when you put your arm into a fish tank full of water. Though we when we say that to people, they stare blankly at us. We can’t be the only ones who have done this. This feeling lasted until we left the Inn, but when we returned later, she didn’t have it. We attribute it to the dust, dim lighting and uneven floors.

After our uneventful walk through, we returned to the camper for food. John retired to bed, locked us out then forgot who we were. After Rob got him to open the door, we then left it on latch, otherwise we would have spent the night in the car park. Not exactly a glamorous haunted location. We returned inside at 10 p.m. There was no bulb in the light above the open grave so after we found a bulb lying around, Ryan climbed over a grate that blocked the area off and screwed the bulb in then we headed upstairs.

We set up base camp in the Bishop’s Room, which is reportedly the most haunted room in the Inn, with 5 ghosts plaguing it, including monks and a Cavalier. Yet we felt really comfortable here. It was our favourite room and the one where we felt most at home.

During a vigil in the Witch’s Room – so called because people have seen an old witch and her cat in there – we found a Ouija board on the table. Us and Ryan sat around it and asked questions but as usual, nothing came through, reinforcing our belief that Ouija boards are purely gimmicks. We moved up to the attic. The stairs are so bowed we could only go up one at a time.

The attic is rumoured to be haunted by William Crewe, a highwayman who hid there every time he returned to Wootten-under-Edge. On one occasion he received 300 lashes. Another time it was 200. He clearly doesn’t learn. He apparently robbed and killed an old woman and was executed in Gloucester in 1786. After we had been up there a while, the K2 meter started bleeping and the needle climbed to red. It bleeped faster so we did an EVP session. The K2 went silent so we played back the DVR.

We all heard a voice.

The Bishop’s Room

We replayed it. Rob thinks it said “I’ll kill her.” We need to put it on the laptop for proper analysis, but when we returned to the attic later in the night, the K2 was silent. Rob left at 12:45 a.m. so we all headed downstairs. The bulb above the grave was missing. It was on a barrel nearby so Ryan screwed it back in. The light switch was still in the on position. The bulb blew, shorting the electrics in the house. We found the fuse box and tripped the switch, which turned everything back on. We’re great at shorting electrics in Casa Raven. We suspect the bulb removing culprit was John, but he would have had to climb over the fire grate, and we have no idea why he would remove the bulb, rather than switch the light off, as the other light was left on. But we couldn’t ask him about it – he wouldn’t remember doing it even if he had. We stayed in the bar and did a vigil in the dark then we decided to split up for lone vigils. Neen and Ryan both wussed out so we headed upstairs with Neen’s night vision camera and Lynx’s Canon. Lynx stayed in the Witch’s Room with the Canon while Cat sat  in the Bishop’s Room with the Sony. The most frightening part wasn’t being alone in the dark in the two most haunted rooms but the drunks walking past our windows. The Inn is set lower than the road so the upper floors are level with the pavement, which is very unnerving. Evil ghost witches, murderous Highwaymen, Incubi and poltergeists while we’re sitting alone in the dark? Easy. Drunks passing outside our windows? Terrifying.

The Witch’s Room

Lynx heard footsteps clumping up and down the landing. She assumed it was Cat and called out to her. When she got no response, she went to the Bishop’s Room. And couldn’t open the door. The footsteps weren’t Cat – she was locked in. When Lynx finally opened the Bishop’s Room, Cat asked her if she’d been to the toilet, which was opposite the Bishop’s Room. Cat heard a door squeaking open. The only time Lynx left the Witch’s Room was to check where Cat was. We’ll have to play back the cameras to see what caused these noises. Downstairs in the bar, Neen and Ryan kept hearing footsteps walking around and assumed it was us pacing the rooms. It wasn’t.

We headed downstairs and regrouped. We set the JVC camcorder up as a static camera pointed at the light bulb to see if it was John who removed the bulb then headed to the barn. When the barn was partly excavated to build a new wall, posts found in the foundations were dated – they were 3000 years old. We returned upstairs and stayed in the Bishop’s Room for a while, eating cake and drinking Red Bull before asking questions using a crystal. Ryan didn’t get much response from the crystal. It behaved a bit better with Neen. As we were lounging in the Bishop’s Room in complete darkness, we decided to break out Ryan’s iOvilus, which is always good for a laugh. After sprouting a load of gibberish, at 1:26 a.m, three words came through in quick succession.

‘Demon. Hour. Run.’

The stairs in the Ram are way too dangerous to run down. It would have to better than that to scare us. Then something started flapping by Cat and Neen, landing on them then vanishing. The night vision  identified it as a butterfly. Knowing the butterfly would die if we left it, we captured it, put it in our empty food tub and went to every window to try and release it. None of the windows open. To get out of the Ram we’d have to pass John’s room, so we opened the tub slightly to give the butterfly enough air until we left.

So…all that happened in the demon hour was…the butterfly. We now suspect the butterfly to be the cause of all the paranormal and poltergeist activity. At 3 a.m., after an impromptu zumba session in the Witch’s Room (in keeping with our zumba moves in Edinburgh’s witches’ circle), we were all knackered and nothing else had happened for a long time, so we packed up and headed out to the camper. The bulb was still in above the grave. We released the butterfly and it flew off into the night. We fully expect all paranormal reports to now stop Then we can quote a line from The Simpsons. “It was the butterfly!”

We went to bed in the camper about 4 a.m. and weren’t attacked. We got up at 9 a.m., only to realise there was not an accessible toilet nearby and John was still asleep. There was only one way to save our kidneys – with a plastic cup. We then took more photos of the outside then returned home.

So our first solo overnight investigation started with what is considered the most haunted house in England and ended with peeing into a cup.

That’s how Calamityville rolls.

Happy Campers

Our mate Neen turned 30 on Friday and like all 30th parties, it had to be memorable. Plus she had our fancy dress and bouncy castle party to compete with. Think she trumped us. We spent the weekend camping in Tenby with a trip to Heatherton adventure park. We know last summer we vowed to never return to west Wales after the welcome we received, but we couldn’t say no to this trip. We haven’t been camping since we were 13 and that was in our aunt’s back garden in Guernsey. There were 14 of us in total. For the first time we got to take our pink Smartcar on a road trip as Ryan would be staying in west Wales to look after his mum who’s hopefully coming out of hospital today. We won. We didn’t tell Ryan, Sarah and Craig we were racing as General Pinkinton only has a top speed of 85 & they would’ve trounced us. But a victory is still a victory.

We got to Meadowfarm camp site and immediately pitched our tent. It’s a great camp site, with stunning views and best of all, a freezer in reception where you can store your ice blocks. That came in very handy, even if the trek up and down the steep hill to reception was a killer. Still, it kept us fit and out of mischief. We’d definitely stay there again. In the excitement of camping, we’d bought camping mats, sleeping bags, air beds, chairs & Ryan bought other equipment. We weren’t going to bother with chairs, but Ryan persuaded us that going camping didn’t mean we had to go feral. It turned out, our 3 man tent did not mean 3 air beds. No, we didn’t check this before setting off. So we spent 2 nights with the 3 of us squished onto 2 single air beds. It’s a good job we’re all friends. After staying up ’til one a.m. then not sleeping all night, we woke at 7 ready for Heatherton. On the hottest day of the year.

The first competition took place on the go-karts. Round one was us, Ryan, Neen and Richard. On the second lap, Cat took a fast corner too fast and spun her kart, much to the delight of the spectators. After managing to turn it and drive through the pits, it was game on. But we lost. As much as we love karting, we seriously suck at it. We’d spent the week watching go-karting videos and studying the racing lines on the Heatherton track so we could win. But when it came to the race, the racing line was forgotten. Neen and Ryan lapped us twice. They are very serious racers. Not entirely sure who won that race, think it was Ryan but they’re both claiming winner’s rights. The second group was Craig, Amy, Rachel (AKA Gibbon), Nici and Zoe.

Next up was the bumper boats. We watched others do this and it kinda looked boring as they chugged around the water slowly. We all got in the boats and turned them into the bumper boats they were supposed to be. We discovered if you turned the engine all the way to one side, the boat would spin really fast, making the impact into someone else even greater. Think we set a bad example to others because after we got out, everyone started spinning the boats.

Then we moved on to body zorbing. Last time we did this, we used the adult balls. But they were way too big for us, came down past our knees, which made getting up difficult and they were really heavy. So this time we requested children’s zorbs. Big mistake. They weren’t anywhere near as padded so we felt every impact of hitting the ground, like whiplash. We were up against Neen, Ryan and Zoe. Zoe and Neen are roller derby girls so are very fit and strong. We’re fit and strong for our size, but we’re also very small. Needless to say, us and Neen were the ones on the floor for most of the fight. We couldn’t get Ryan and Zoe down. Even when us and Neen teamed up, we couldn’t get them down. Ryan was the only one could fell Zoe. We trooped out of the arena battered, bruised and barely able to move. Lynx’s back bent the wrong way against the ropes, making her Scoliosis protest vehemently at this abuse. Then Cat’s bad knee went. Despite quickly slapping on the Deep Freeze ice patch and her brace, the damage was done. The pain was so bad she couldn’t walk but with her crutches at home, there was no choice.

Next it was pirate golf. We split into teams of 3 or 4 and hit the course. Two balls ended up in the water and Amy bravely waded in to fish hers out. Thinking of it, we all should’ve thrown our balls in just so we could escape the blazing sun. Then it was round 2 of go karting. This time, it was serious. It was us, Neen, Zoe, Ryan and Amy. We were determined not to lose this time. But against Neen and Ryan, we didn’t stand a chance. This time, Ryan spun his kart. And we nearly drove into him Neen won that bout. Turned out, the kart Cat spun was number 7. The kart Ryan spun was also number 7. This now removes driver error from the accidents. We had a faulty kart. After the race, Cat’s ribs were sore on the left, from where the seat was digging in – there was a swelling there. By night time, the swelling had grown to the size of half a golf ball. For the first time ever, her ribs couldn’t be seen beneath her skin.

On our way back to the camp site, we spied a woman sitting in the road. We stopped, wondering if she was drunk or had a stone in her shoe but then she heaved herself to the side of the road on her hands and arse so we could pass. Cat got out and went to see if she was ok – she’d gone over on her ankle down a pothole. An ankle she’d previously broken and had surgery on, and her other leg was badly grazed. Luckily Cat had spare ice patches so we put one on her ankle, helped her up and insisted on giving her a lift to the camp site. We dropped her off outside her tent. Did you see that, Karma? We helped someone. Now pay up.

Sunday morning, we woke feeling like we’d lost a fight with Megazord. We got home at 6pm and all 3 cats flocked to us. Mum hadn’t really seen them all weekend. They knew when their slaves were home and crowded round with untrue tales of starvation and being left alone. They seem to think we’re the only ones who live at Casa Raven. Today we’re still sore and stiff. And tonight we have an hour of zumba with extra half hour of toning. This is going to hurt…

Tax Evasion

Wow, it’s been ages since we blogged, but that’s because we haven’t had anything to blog about, so instead of bombarding you with mindless tripe, we figured it was better to stay silent. But today’s blog is brought to you by the letters A, T and the number 44. A is for Amazon, T is for tax and the number is for the last amount in dollars that Amazon withheld from us. It’s grown since then but we don’t have the data. If you want to read about our tax battle, this post is about the trouble we had with the IRS. Then there was this post about Amazon withholding our money.

You know your day is starting badly when you switch on the laptop and your first words are “fuck you Amazon.” Their email went along the lines of ‘here’s your money’ *dangles it in front of us* ‘no you can’t have it.’ They told us that they do not issue refunds for amounts held before they received the W8-BEN form, but in MARCH they will send us a form stating how much they’ve stolen from us and if we want to, we can contact the IRS about a refund. So…they DO issue refunds? BUT – we sent Amazon THREE forms then chased them up about each one. They claimed they never received the forms and we should send them it via tracking. We told them seeing as it’s their fault they haven’t received the forms, we would gladly send another one via tracking, as long as they pay for it. A few days later, they found the third form. Like magic.

We were looking forwards to our royalties for the past couple of months because they’re our highest yet. Yet we got paid this morning and it’s a lot less than it should be. Because they’ve withheld our tax again. We emailed them telling them how ridiculous it all is, and reminding them the UK has a tax treaty with America, so they have no right to withhold our tax and we will not be waiting until March to claim it all back. That’s OUR hard earned money, you thieving bastards! It’s hard enough making a living from writing and when Amazon then steals a large percentage of that money for no reason, it makes it worse.

And this comes a few days after we’ve been fined £100 each for a late tax return in the UK, even though we sent them our returns well within the time frame. So we now have to fight Amazon for our American tax and HMRC for the fine. Will there ever be a day when we don’t have to fight to the death about everything? Unlikely. We’re full time writers. We don’t earn much so having to battle two different companies for tax that is rightfully ours is a pain in the arse, and financially damaging. Some days we just get sick of fighting. But some days, the fight is all we have left.

Listen Amazon – you haven’t paid tax in our country, so don’t fucking steal our tax in yours! If we have to come to America to perform a daring robbery armed with glitter guns to get our tax back, you’ll be sorry. You’ll also be sparkling like a Twilight vampire in the sunshine. So give us back our tax or you will be picking glitter out of your hair for weeks.

The Only Sorceress Cover Reveal

We’re very excited because today we get to do a cover reveal! We’ve done several of our own but we’ve never revealed anyone else’s cover. Yet Anya Breton has entrusted us with hers. We feel we should have those fancy crimson curtains that part to reveal it, but knowing our luck, the pull string would snap or the damn thing would fall off the wall. Perhaps you could across the screen down slowly to create some anticipation.

So without further ado, we present the first book in The Only Sorceress series, The Only Sorceress *cue applause* It will be out tomorrow.

About the Book:

Self-proclaimed sorceress Kora Walsh knows exactly how to use her shiny new MBA. She’ll open a new age shop in a colony of the country’s most powerful witches. But the town rife with bigots doesn’t want her or her sleek shop tainting their perfect community.

Kora would leave if she had any choice in the matter. She’s trained from childhood for her true task—infiltrating coven leadership as her mother’s mole. Failure to do her familial duty is not an option, not when her childhood nemesis is assured her failed soul for an eternity of torture.

And thanks to the colony’s loudest supporter, the beautiful Desmond Marino, failure is a very real danger.

 

Excerpt – From Chapter Five:

I might have considered the hotness factor of the guy in the tailored suit standing on my porch if I hadn’t been operating on three hours of sleep. Instead, I repeatedly rubbed the crust out of my eyes and contemplated what kind of insurance he could possibly be selling.

Was there a company that insured members of the Underground against accidents? Whatever it was, it would cost me an arm and a leg because the outfit covering his sinewy body couldn’t have had a price tag for less than a thousand dollars.

“Yeah?” I asked over a particularly aggressive yawn. It came out as “Eeeaaa?” I took the opportunity to pull my polyester robe around myself while he peered over my shoulder into my empty living room.

“I’m Desmond Marino,” the guy on my front stoop said.

The matter-of-fact tone of his smooth, masculine voice suggested he expected I’d heard of him. Likewise he didn’t extend the arm hanging beside his black silk-blend jacket to offer me a shake—the implication being he didn’t feel I deserved the courtesy. Nor did he lift his eyes from their hooded position. That gaze combined with his flat, dark eyebrows and the full lips of a Michelangelo statue gave off the impression of sensual menace. Then again, maybe it was that he was hot in an international male model sort of way with his short blue-black hair, chiseled nose, and posh wardrobe.

He scrutinized me up and down. This guy could give my nemesis a run for his money in the menace department.

What in the world had made me think of Trip now?

The smoky tang of incense floated on the air. I hadn’t burnt any, and the breeze was too brisk for it to have come from a neighbor. But no, that wasn’t incense. It was the marker of a witch.

I took a stealthy sniff while blinking slowly. The crisp note of a fresh mountain stream overtook the smoky tang. Water witch. My stomach twisted into a tight knot. Water witches’ empathic ability often caused the most trouble of the magical community.

“You are not welcome here,” he said in a voice loud enough to wake the neighbors.

Despite the volume I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly during my twentieth yawn of the morning. “Pardon?”

His eyes—a disturbing aqua blue not far off from my cerulean hair—somehow managed to hood more without completely closing. He was familiar. Strange, considering I’d never officially met a Water witch.

“This is a colony for witches,” he said haughtily. “You aren’t a witch. How did you get in here?”

“I signed a year lease just like everyone else,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding him.

“This is Wipuk,” he said as if he thought I’d gotten lost on my way to Phoenix. “If you aren’t a witch then you aren’t welcome. You shouldn’t have even been able to crosswithout magical ability.”

I made damn sure he saw my eyebrows shoot up to the middle of my forehead. Desmond Marino was a dick. But if he felt like he could knock on my door at whatever time it was and tell me I wasn’t welcome, then I figured he fancied himself important. I couldn’t simply tell him to stick his head in Cerberus’s maw if I had any chance of completing the task my mother had set forth for me. Infiltrating the magical community’s leadership would be a difficult task without ticking off anyone who might have their ear.

So I emulated an airhead. Guys were always nicer to stupid girls.

“Really?” I blinked vacuously blank eyes twice. “I have a shapeshifter neighbor. And over there in apartment one twenty-six are a werefox dad and son.” I pointed past Desmond the dick’s shoulder toward the building across the courtyard. I let my head tilt to the right so my hair would fall away from my cheek in a girlish way. “I didn’t know witches could be infected by Were-viruses.”

They couldn’t. Nor could a shapeshifter be born a witch. The analogy would be like a dog being born a cat.

Desmond the dick’s full lips puckered, giving him a Muppet-like appearance. “They have been given dispensation to live in Wipuk and keys to cross. You haven’t.”

“Oh gosh,” I said ruefully with noticeably slow blinks I’d always imagined equated to idiocy. “I have this letter from the Centralized Coven Coalition that says… Hang on.” I held up my index finger in the “one moment” sign. “Let me go get it. I don’t want to misquote anyone.”

I scampered to the breakfast bar where I’d dropped my laptop bag. In the stack of papers that included my business plan for my intended shop, my bank statements, and market research into the Sedona economy, was a letter from the coalition. I returned to the door as I flipped through the pages.

“Here it is,” I said in an appropriately vacant tone. “It’s addressed to Rebecca Kora Walsh.” I glanced at him. “That’s me.” At his darkened look, I continued. “It says, I quote, ‘Thank you for your recent interest in relocating to the Wipuk colony. Any faction capable of finding Wipuk is welcome to join us.’” I gave Desmond the dick my beatific smile along with a playful little bounce that sent my cerulean hair sliding away from my face. “I found it!”

His chin was flush with his collar now. The whites of his eyes were no longer visible. Clearly he didn’t enjoy my airhead act.

“Someone helped you,” he said with careful enunciation. “You didn’t simply walk into Wipuk on your own.”

I shook my head slowly, allowing my eyes to widen in my Golly-Gee-Mr. Wilson expression. “I don’t know anyone here except for the shapeshifter I met last night and the teenage werefox who stole my boxes but brought them back. No one helped me find Wipuk. I just found it.” I gestured to the paper in my hand. “Like I said in my original letter to the coalition, I’m a sorceress. I think that’s why I was able to find the colony.”

Desmond the dick stared at my eyes furiously for three seconds as if he’d expected me to change my tune merely to please him. His next words came out in the same careful tone as his previous statement. “There is no such thing as a sorceress. You had to have help.”

There wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know that. He did need to know I could wield magic. I’d have to give him a show of it.

About the Author: 

Anya Breton is a web monkey with an obsession for nail polish and rubber chickens. Her fears include Peeps and people who hate clowns. She lives in the Midwest with her significant other.

Follow Anya Breton: Website | Facebook | @AnyaBreton | GoodReads

 

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