The dungeon reeked. Two large, scaly Inlans held my arms in painful grips as they escorted me to my brother’s cell. When I tripped, the shapeshifting aliens urged me to move faster. The cell door stood open, and Harren Den, the Inlan king, entered first. The other Inlans dragged me in next.
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“Why do I always get myself dragged into these things?” Skeer picked another cricket out of his hair. “What were you, cable-knit cardigan or itchy turtleneck?”
The cricket didn’t answer, of course. It jumped out of his hand to join the scores of others crawling about in the dandelions.
“And with one mighty swing of his ax, the woodsman split the wolf in two, and Red Riding Hood and her grandmother came tumbling out!”
I stood and began clearing away the dishes, warmed by the familiar tale. Happy endings were always my favorite. “The last time you told me that one,
I grounded my teeth as I laid in bed, trying to nap. “Infernal noise.” I considered searching for my staff to bang on the ceiling, but the bandages over my eyes made that difficult. For three days, my upstairs neighbors at the inn and tavern had been making more noise than a banshee in labor.
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We are excited to announce that our second anthology will release April 30th! The Season Two: Stories That Sing anthology includes: 31 winning stories from our second season (July-December 2019) exclusive stories by our Featured Authors: Carla Hoch, Morgan L. Busse, Kat Heckenbach, and Jill Williamson exclusive stories by our Featured Staff: Andrew Winch, Teddi Deppner, Lisa Godfrees, Ronnell
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The jungle island loomed ahead, a silhouette against the rising sun. I hurtled across the tips of the waves in my best tuxedo. Six of the most accomplished and highly trained Navy SEALs to ever swim for Uncle Sam followed close behind.
We made for a cave hidden at the back of a narrow cove,
The flower opened silently. Unremarkably. Alone in the forest’s center, right where I’d planted it. Beautiful. Unnoticed. Deadly.
Smiling, I crouched beside it. They’d never suspect this. Those humans were too busy worrying about World War III, global warming, and zombies to stop and smell the flowers.
Their loss.
It’s not the end of the world.
That’s what her brother would have said if he were here.
But he wasn’t.
Corbin had been called in to work a late shift at the warehouse thirteen miles away. Nora knew because the GPS locator on her phone told her.
If only her phone could pinpoint the monsters, too.
The stout at the Crown is frothy and just a bit sweet. Not sure how many I’ve drunk, but tonight isn’t the night for counting. If I was sure there’d be beer in heaven, I might be elsewhere.
Aliens. The outer-space sort. Came down from beyond months ago and decided last week they’d play
“Y’know, it’s still pretty cool to look at,” Gil said, as another solar flare flickered out across the night sky. “You can see splendid patterns, roiling changes that resemble wind direction, and a fantastic purple-orange hue to the sky. It’s a bit like the Northern Lights, I think.”
He turned and pointed upwards
I found him by accident as I stumbled through the forest, cloaked in shadows.
The child was crouched in a patch of light, bare feet dusty against the packed earth. He was feeding the crows. They hopped about him, nipping at his clothing, brushing his face with their wings. He laughed.
Havok Story Podcast, Episode 3: “Slippers” by Abigail Falanga.
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