Havok Publishing

Justin Mynheir

S2 Wacky Wednesday featured image (season 2)

Dave and the City of Radishes

By Justin Mynheir “This is quite a pickle. Isn’t it, dear?” Dave leaned against the inside of the rusted cage. Down the cliffside, across an amphitheater of ancient stone ruins claimed by jungle growth, suspended over a bubbling pool of lava, Karen fidgeted in her rope bindings. “You think?!” “I think plenty, but even my

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S2 Thriller Thursday featured image (season 2)


I don’t usually enjoy parties. But a rave? I had to experience one of those.
Hannah dragged me down the coast to a cozy little beachside town removed from society. Cars and RVs were packed into a giant parking lot on the outskirts. People from all over came for the rave.

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The Whack-a-Moleist

Friends and fans knew him as Nole the Mole. The internet knew him as a viral failure.
Last year, he dueled Herbert the Hammer at the Twenty-Second Whack-a-Mole International Championship for the title of Mallet Master. Herbert’s score reached previously unseen levels, but Nole knew he could’ve beaten him— had he not ignored a “wet floor” sign, slipped, and sprained his mallet hand catching his fall.

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An Undeserved Chance

Aram sipped black coffee in a café on a street corner, quaint for a metropolitan area. He scanned his mark from a rough wooden chair on a little porch outside. An insurgent patrol, one of a few hundred targets to be obliterated in the same second, drove by.
The missiles were already launched.

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As head of security, Teddy saw every newcomer as suspicious, but the sixteen-year-old also hungered for news of life elsewhere. He lounged in a tattered lawn chair and set his hands onto the plastic folding table. The olive-green tent around him snapped against the poles as he waited to see why the boys on the watch had called him over, but the faithful shelter stood against an oppressive wind.

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“You know, it’s not easy to find something that shouldn’t exist.”
Bradley shook awake. Ropes held his body to a chair, old and coarse bindings. Sitting alone in what appeared to be an attic lit solely by moonlight from windows to the right and left, he could not trace the deep voice to a source.

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The Pet Rock Named Dave

“Please look at me, not my body.” Dave’s voice came from behind her, rather than his open, motionless mouth.
She turned back towards the amulet. Two googly eyes glued to a fist-sized rock stared back at her. Karen squinted. She gave the rock a tight smile.
“You look different, honey.”

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