Tales of Author Success:
Tawlks & Muldery
Come celebrate Havok authors Krysta Tawlks and Hannah Muldery for their recent contest wins and read the winning stories!
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Tales of Author Success:
The Yellowed Documents
The sheriff tossed the yellowed documents onto the Sutton’s kitchen table. “I’m sorry to tell you folks. The documents are real.”
A small cry erupted from Margaret’s lips.
Hank moved behind his wife and gripped her shoulder, hoping the warmth of his hand would lend her strength. “Are you sure, Sheriff?”
“I’m sure.
The Pickle Jar
Rule one: never let anyone see you put the pickle jar back on the guardrail. Jaxa tugged on her black ninja shirt, which overlaid matching black pants and blended with her dark hair.
Rule two: look epic on every mission.
The still silence dragged at her heels as Jaxa fumbled out of her
The Nerds Strike Back
Bang!
My shoulders slammed into their favorite indentations on my locker, and I gazed up into Rex Norman’s baby blues for the fourth time since second period. What does Dino King want this time? He’d already taken all my money, my math homework, and my secret snack.
“Hey, dweeb, homecoming pep rally
Of Cedar and Death
The carved scenes on the face of the casket looked alive, despite its intended purpose, and with it I would bury my nightmare.
The shop smelled of fresh-shaved cedar, delicate curls collecting in small drifts upon the dirt floor as I poured my pain into finishing this task.
The shop door scraped open,
The Queen and I
“You’ve been gone so long, milady. We thought you might never come back.” Agnes smooths out my blankets, rumpled from my restless sleep. “How was your stay in the country?” She sounds nonchalant, but shoots me a covert glance.
Does she know?
Beeswax sweetens the air, and I lurch from my chair
The Lab Glasses
Carrie removed the clutter from her husband’s dresser, dropping each piece onto the bed. A package of new shoelaces. An old watch, the hands on its face forever proclaiming three-thirteen. A comb. His lab glasses. Safety pins. A tie clip.
At this rate, it would take the baby’s entire nap time to get
One New Message
My eyes are transfixed by the rhythmic pulse of the red blinking light. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
It calls out to me, signaling me to press the button. Daring me. Taunting me. But I can’t. Not yet.
The weight on my chest stills my breath and my hand.
Little Piggy Run Amok
I narrow my eyes at the porker rooting through a box of graham crackers on my kitchen floor. Today, your reign of terror comes to an end.
The potbelly pig chomps down on another package of crackers. I crouch, inching past the cupboard door that hangs lopsidedly from busted hinges, victim
Senseless
Toby toddles from his spot at the foot of my bed and starts licking my three-day old stubble. His sloppy kisses don’t tickle my skin. They’re are not cold, wet, or grainy. I can smell his minty breath—must’ve stolen a mint out of one of my pockets again—but, I can’t feel the warmth
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Bath Time vs. Mr. Fluffers
The front door slams and jolts me from slumber. I uncurl and raise my head. What mortal dares to awaken me?
Ah. It’s my Human, Tricia. She takes off her wet rainboots in the entryway and hangs up her jacket.
“Hello, Mr. Fluffers!” She says in the annoyingly high voice reserved for me and me only.
Slumpbuster Bunny
“You got the chicken?” Tommy asked, strutting across the outfield grass wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
“Gosh sakes, Spitfield,” I whispered. “Keep it down, will ya?”
“You found one, though?”
“Deli’s closed.”
Tommy raised upturned palms toward the moon. “You had one job, Luis. You buy rotisserie chicken. I bring the jam and jellies. And Roger…”
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