“By my reckoning, it will be fifty years before I pose a significant threat.”
The letter was signed by Eldred Ballantyne, dated November 24, 1952, and left with a firm of attorneys who’d mailed it as instructed fifty years later. The Singer Biotechnical Institute president at the time was curious enough to open it,
The place stank of dreams. Shattered dreams, stale dreams, rancid dreams. And nightmares. I tasted them all the moment I arrived. It was a stagnant sort of taste, like cold porridge served with moldy bread, as though nothing fresh had been dreamed there in ages. Not that I’ve eaten porridge. But I have
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Scriiiitch… tap.
The sound haunts my nightmares and plagues my every waking hour. The Detior’s talons scrape the wall as its cane taps along. Harbingers of pain and torment, no Detior truly needs help walking, but they all enjoy the sounds of suffering. Each cane is a single column of crimson death with
I stared at the animal perched on the Archmage’s hand. While its head resembled a dragon’s, it definitely wasn’t one. It was a brown, fluffy bird with big eyes and a tiny beak. The bird lifted a wing and began preening its feathers.
I bit my lip. “Are you sure this is my familiar?
I gazed at the distant horizon, where the sky met the sea. The indigo twilight slowly faded into the dark ocean.
Something in that vast emptiness called out to me. It was more than just a vague desire to see the world. It was more of a beckoning. Like a beacon from a distant
Oscar nipped my ear and whined. I yelped and swatted at the ferret on my shoulder, unease blossoming in my chest. “I heard you the first time.” But it wasn’t like I could go in there.
The house in front of me wasn’t really a house. It was a mansion, all spires and towers
A time drone exited the Cretaceous forest and rose to a cruising height of fifty meters, flying toward a herd of hadrosaurs. Some of the dinosaurs slurped water from a river splashing over a series of rocks, while others munched on fresh-scented, juicy ferns. All soaked up the summer sunshine.
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Deirdre stood before me, framed by the mirror, her blue eyes glistening. Typical. She always seemed to be on the verge of tears.
“Nimha,” she called, pressing her hand against the glass.
I emerged through the mirror and slithered onto her hand. “Yes, my queen?”
She stared at the glass. “Who is fairest
Julia Skinner sets the pace as a Havok author, community leader, and social media influencer. We’re thrilled to share this interview with her!
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The world turns cold, leaving me drained and human. I lay in a patch of mud, my head pounding. A parting gift from the transformation. I lift a hand to rub my temples, and the glitter of my chipped nail polish catches weak starlight.
The tattered remains of a dirty yellow sweater cling
Senn needed a human host soon. His pickiness this time did not help. He had skipped at least seven compatible targets, but he did not have time to work with a child. If he could not find an adult worthy to live in soon, the mission would fail.
He zipped down to a
The way I see it, you find a giant egg in the forest, you have two options. You break it open or you don’t.
The lodge we’d passed through was easy to see from the edge of the crater. Stand atop a fallen tree and there it was—civilization. Like children in sight
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