But first, check out the blurb for her new novel, Monster in My Closet!
I stopped believing in monsters long ago. But I knew I wasn’t imagining things when I found one in my kitchen baking muffins. I’d seen him before: lurking in my closet, scaring the crap out of my five-year-old self. Turns out that was a misunderstanding, and now Maurice needs a place to stay. How could I say no?
After all, I’ve always been a magnet for the emotionally needy, and not just in my work as a wedding planner. Being able to sense the feelings of others can be a major pain. Don’t get me wrong, I like helping people—and non-people. But this ability has turned me into a gourmet feast for an incubus, a demon that feeds off emotional energy. Now, brides are dropping dead all over town, and my home has become a safe house for the supernatural. I must learn to focus my powers and defeat the demon before he snacks on another innocent woman and comes looking for the main course…
Here’s Rachel’s Trauma Llama tale:
I’m going to attempt to tell this story in as tasteful a manner as possible. I tried to warn Anya, but she insisted.
This happened about fifteen years ago while I was living in England. My kids were about three and six.
The first thing you have to understand is that I had a business doing those parties that sell, you know, stuff. Lingerie, pasta shaped like boobs…vibrators. This meant I had a huge collection of such things. Big purple ones with rotating ball bearings inside and beavers on the base with twitching tongues. Anatomically shaped ones with specific details. Tiny ones that looked like lipstick so you could keep it in your purse for emergencies. And the basic white cylinder with interchangeable “sleeves” that I had to warn people wouldn’t come off the unit unless they put lubricant on them first.
So my husband (now ex) and I were downstairs in the living room, and the kids were outside playing. My back was to the window. A shadow crossed in the light, and I turned around to look. Nothing. It happened again. I looked out the window. Nothing.
This went on for a few minutes: a brief shadow, a quick look to see what was going on, nothing.
Finally, my daughter (the littlest) came downstairs and out the back door. A few minutes later, she came in and ran back up the stairs. The shadow thing happened a few more times. I thought I was being punked. Down she came again, out the door, back in again.
“Go outside and play with your brother,” I told her.
She looked shifty. I grew suspicious. The boy came in behind her, looking equally shifty. Also, guilty.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
There was evasion, but eventually, I got it out of them. Apparently, they’d both been up in my room, trying to get my “white flashlight” to work. Sure. That’s amusing but you can come back from that. Hilarious and appalling is that somehow, someway, they managed to drop it out my open window and into the backyard.
The shadow I was seeing (wait for it, kids are awesome) was my son tossing my vibrator up to the waiting hands of my daughter, who was hanging out the window trying to catch it. God forbid I catch them trying to smuggle it up there. No. Tossing it up to the second story makes way more sense.
Of course, a three-year old can’t catch that well, so the procedure was repeated over and over.
The bottom popped off, and half the vibrator flew into the neighbor’s yard. The cranky old lady who got mad when the kids lost their toys over there.
Even as a writer, I cannot make this up.
Well, I was totally useless. I was on the floor hyperventilating from laughing so hard. The husband guy had to go over and ask for it back.
It was a lucky break that they found the basic model and not the one with the rotating rabbit ears.
True story. Lock up your stuff, people. Kids are crazy.
Hilarious! I probably should have warned you to make sure your bladder was empty before reading, huh? 😀
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 🙂