Havok Publishing

Rosemary E. Johnson

To Tame a Wild Mustache

I collapsed in the shade of an acacia tree, panting. My legs still tingled from the countless scratchy beards that had stampeded our direction.
Beside me, Archibald Waverly, renowned safari guide and wild mustache expert, lay flopped on the ground, pith helmet askew. “That was a close one.”
It was a moment

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Strawberry Thief

Cennet cracked one eye open. Her lace curtains fluttered in the cool breeze coming through the open window. Early morning light warmed her face.
And a munching sound came from her garden.
Whipping off her blanket, Cennet hurried outside. Her slippers slapped on the stepping stones. Sure enough, for the third morning in a

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Free Like the Forest

For all his bone-shuddering exhaustion, Tyr couldn’t sleep. In the ruddy half-light, he could make out his brother’s prone form, huddled on the thin blanket they used as a bed. His breathing was slow, steady.
At least one of them would be rested before they escaped.
Tyr curled his knees to his chest.

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Ashes in the Wind

“It looks like Earth.” Captain Kilian maneuvered the pod through the atmosphere, eyes bouncing from the control panel to the green surface of the planet that had yet to be named.
Alice’s stomach churned with a combination of excitement and dread. “Except the forest is glowing.” For a moment, excitement won out,

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My Sword, Mike

“Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.” Roe strapped on his belt and gave his sword, Mike, a pat.
“Ow.” Mike huffed. “I told you. No touchy-touchy.”
“Somebody’s grumpy today.” Roe pulled on his boots and stretched. Nothing was going to sully his fine mood, not even his sort-of-faithful sword he’d stolen…

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Mustache Safari

The mud hut was thatched with grass that stuck out like my hair in the morning. Its only difference from the other huts was the paper nailed to the door. I had to squint to read the orange gel pen writing: Archibald Waverly.
I knocked.
An old man with tufts of white hair

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The Love Potion

Eddie fidgeted in his chair, pen poised over the dotted line. Once he signed the paperwork, he’d have nothing left to distract him from the young woman on the other side of the desk.
Which meant a conversation would happen.
Why oh why had he let their mutual friend talk him into testing this new love potion?

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A Button for a Soul

Dad told me, “Never insult a fairy, or it’ll steal your soul.” He didn’t warm me fairies take even the tiniest tease as an insult.
Greetings from a soulless peasant boy!

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