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  HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

  9

  A VERY BAD GIRL

  Natalie Mepham | nataliemepham.com

  Agly couldn’t imagine that children tasted good,

  Cookbook for the Busy Witch. She paged to the Guilty even when seasoned, but she needed to eat them to

  Pleasure Section in search of an appetizing way to season keep up the part. After all, what kind of witch would

  the children. Before long, she came across a mesquite

  she be if she didn’t eat children? At least, that’s what seasoning that looked promising. She then went to the

  the VIPs at the Witches’ Guild told her. This December

  pantry to look for rope so that she could tie the children would mark her five-year anniversary of being a witch,

  up before throwing them into the cauldron.

  and she had yet to eat a human child, which put her well below the mandated consumption of three children per

  Agly pointed to the cauldron full

  year. If she didn’t meet her quota this year, the elders said they would revoke her witch license.

  of water that she was boiling in

  For the most part, Agly enjoyed being a witch. She

  had applied to be one for the concomitant status and

  her dining room.

  magic powers. Also, her entire life her parents had told her she was a very bad girl, so it had only made sense

  A few minutes later, she heard Harry’s voice behind

  to become a witch. While she excelled in other areas of her. “What are you looking for?”

  being a witch—cackling loudly, donning pointy hats, and Agly had just found the rope at the back of the

  befriending black cats—for some reason, she couldn’t

  pantry, tucked behind a party pack of graveyard worms.

  seem to bring herself to eat human children.

  She dropped it when she heard Harry come up behind her.

  The perfect opportunity had presented itself when a

  She turned around to face him. “Nothing. Why don’t

  young boy named Harry and a young girl named Gemma,

  you go play dolls with Gemma?” She put her hands on

  ages five and seven respectively, came knocking at her

  his shoulders and steered him out of the pantry.

  door. They told her they were running from their mother, Hearing her name, Gemma ran over to them and

  who was as wicked as a goblin. Because she wasn’t in

  wrapped them both in what she proclaimed “a fun

  her witch attire, they had no way of knowing she was

  group hug.”

  as a witch and, being young and trusting, asked if they

  “Thank you for letting us stay with you, Agly!”

  could spend the night at her place before heading off

  Gemma cried. “You’re so good to us!”

  to Elsewhere tomorrow morning.

  The moment Agly looked into Gemma’s sincere face,

  she knew she was a goner. The guild would just have to

  revoke her witch license. That’s all there was to it. She

  After all, what kind of witch

  could finally be what she had wanted to be all along.

  would she be if she didn’t eat

  Good.

  children?

  The guild would just have to

  “Have you two ever been in a hot tub before?”

  revoke her witch license.

  Agly pointed to the cauldron full of water that she was boiling in her dining room.

  “No, never.” Gemma’s too-large-for-her-face blue

  Just as she was about to turn down the fire on the

  eyes made Agly smile.

  cauldron and get some chicken nuggets for the kids

  “Yay! Swimming!” Harry cheered. His plump cheeks,

  from the freezer, Agly saw something that made her

  covered in freckles, begged Agly to pinch them.

  gasp. In an instant, Harry and Gemma transformed into

  Gemma frowned. “But we don’t have swimsuits.”

  full-grown adults with long, silvery hair and royal purple Agly dismissed her objection with the wave of a

  robes marked with the witch hunters’ burgundy star.

  hand. “You can get your clothes wet.”

  With no show of emotion, they pulled out their wands.

  “Wow, Mom would’ve never let us do that!” Harry

  “You fell right into our trap.” Harry’s deep voice

  cried. “Let’s go!”

  startled Agly.

  “The water isn’t hot enough yet. Why don’t you

  “Please, don’t do this! Everyone has me all wrong!”

  two play for a little while? I’ve got some dolls in the she wailed. “I want to—”

  living room.”

  Before she could finish, Gemma shot a fatal spell

  While they played with the dolls, she pulled out

  through her heart.

  The Low-Glycemic, Extreme-Flavor, and Fat-Melting

  10

  HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

  PUMPKIN NIGHT

  DJ Tyrer | djtyrer.blogspot.co.uk/

  “Looks like we done got ourselves a bumper crop

  The pumpkin shuddered.

  this year,” said one of the figures standing on the farm Jim jumped back and swore. Pumpkins weren’t

  porch overlooking the field thick with bulbous orange

  supposed to shudder like that.

  globes.

  It shuddered again. Then, a crack appeared in its

  “Uh-huh. Gonna be a fine pumpkin night tonight,”

  side and, a moment later, it cracked open. There was

  said the other as they turned and went onside.

  a pungent smell and orange goo vomited out onto

  It was Halloween and the two men were already

  the ground. Then, the husk fell away to reveal what

  in costume, done up as a pair of sack-faced scarecrows.

  appeared to be a baby smeared with the orange goo:

  Jim wasn’t in his costume—Mom had gotten him a great

  a baby with a hideous face with enormous black eyes,

  Spiderman suit—because he wasn’t there to trick-or-treat.

  yawning nasal cavity, and a jagged, narrow mouth that

  He was at the farm on a mission. Technically, he was

  looked just like the faces carved into pumpkins.

  about to steal, but all he planned to take was a pumpkin, and they had so many it wasn’t as if it mattered. They

  All he needed to do was slice

  wouldn’t miss just one, and he wanted to have the

  biggest jack-o’-lantern on the block.

  through the thick green stalk and

  He waited a short while after they’d gone inside to

  make sure they weren’t going to come back for another

  it was his.

  look. They didn’t.

  Cautiously, he crept out from the bushes and

  Jim shrieked in terror and the door to the farmhouse

  threaded his way through the field, selecting the biggest burst open and the two masked farmers ran out. Just

  and best-looking pumpkin of them all.

  what did the burlap sacks over their heads conceal? He

  He pulled out his pocketknife. Well, technically, it

  was certain he knew the answer. He turned and ran.

  was his brother’s, but he never seemed to need it since

  “Damn kids,” one of the pair muttered.

  he’d become interested in girls.

  “Don’t worry,” the other said, “no-one’ll believe

  All he needed to do was slice through the thick

  him. Come on, they’re hatching …”

  green stalk and it was his.

  HAPPY HOLIDAYS

  C L Raven |
clraven.wordpress.com

  “We’ll take the Norwegian.”

  My wife helps carry it while the children grab

  My daughter pouts. She wants the small British one.

  decorations. They dress it in tinsel and cobwebs. Orange Two men cut it down, bag it, and tie it to my roof rack.

  lights strangle it. I switch them on.

  I picked a fresh one this time. Last year I took pity on

  “Happy Halloween!”

  an older one nobody wanted. My pity vanished after

  Every year we buy a real one from the Hangman’s

  cleaning the mess in my living room.

  Graveyard. Fake corpses lack that Halloween magic.

  HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

  11

  THE MONSTER IN ME

  Lynne Pleau

  There is a monster lurking inside of me. It whispers

  No, don’t, cries the monster. But I lunge. Screams in the light of day and haunts me in the dead of night.

  rise beside me.

  It steals my peace and blocks my sleep.

  Yes. Yes!

  In bed, I turn and toss as, over and over, it replays

  I block my ears and hold her tight.

  scenes of bodies—slashed and dismembered—of blood

  I won’t listen. Not anymore. I will do what I want.

  spilled, running in red rivers around my brain. Sharper I raise the knife and slash. I slash and slash until the than my sharpest knife, it pierces me.

  Stop. Stop! I cry.

  Sharper than my sharpest

  I cannot bear it.

  Why are you doing this? Who are you, monster?

  knife, it pierces me.

  You know who I am.

  No, I don’t!

  screams come to a gurgled end. Dead eyes stare up at

  But it speaks no more.

  me. A red river runs around my feet.

  And then it comes to me. Who is this monster to

  I turn and laugh.

  decide what is wrong or right? To cut off my freedom

  I have won, monster! Now, tell me your name!

  and cower me without a fight? I will no longer be afraid.

  Silence.

  I will silence the monster at its own game.

  Monster?

  So I lurk in a darkened alley, until I hear footsteps

  No matter. I am free at last! As I wipe my knife

  echoing, a woman in the night.

  clean, I lurk and listen for the echoes of my next victim.

  I follow.

  NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING

  Matthew Keeley | matthewkeeley.co.uk

  Thump. Thump. Thump. In the almost-dark, I lug the lumpy red sack down each stair, muttering curses at each thud. Christmas lights twinkle from the cozy living room. What a surprise they’ll get in the morning. I squeeze open the front door just an inch and peer out.

  No one. And snow. Heavy snow. Perfect. It’ll cover up my footprints to the car trunk. And any drops of blood.

  12

  HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

  BURNING MAN

  Aeryn Rudel | rejectomancy.com

  Sergei had never known such pain. Before they’d put him, worried looks on their faces. They smelled the the demon in him, he hadn’t believed such agony

  sulfur. He remembered that stench from when they’d

  possible. His body incubated a monster that raked

  pulled the demon from the depths of hell and stuffed

  fire over every nerve with each step. Still he walked,

  it, howling, into his open mouth. It had gone down like still he pushed on, one foot in front of the other. For a hurricane of razors. The pain subsided then, retreating Lilya, he gritted his teeth so hard his molars chipped.

  to a sharp ache in his belly, but it had grown teeth when For Lilya, he choked down the screams that boiled up

  they’d pushed him out of the van. Now, a block from his his throat with every knife-pointed beat of his heart.

  target, the demon writhed inside him, and he endured

  Three hundred yards. The rational part of his mind a towering monolith of agony.

  still held sway over the shrieking madness of his pain.

  He’d begged them to drop him off in front of the

  Three hundred yards, and it’s over. Lilya will be safe.

  building, but the koldun refused. He’d said, “The demon He wrenched his gaze up to his target, a luxury

  is a bomb, and your soul is the fuse. You must endure

  condominium high rise, twenty stories of marble and

  until the bomb is ready to go off.”

  alabaster. It stood among dozens of others like it in

  One hundred yards.

  downtown Seattle, like the one where he’d first met

  the koldun, the sorcerer from the Druzhýna. He had

  The demon shifted inside him,

  gone there, foolishly, seeking a loan from what he

  thought was an arm of the local bratva. He had found

  claws or scales pressing against

  something much worse than the thugs and thieves

  his organs in a broken-glass

  of Russian organized crime. They had taken Lilya and

  offered him a terrible bargain.

  caress.

  The koldun had told him a great evil lived in the building that was his target, a man named Sadik Hidimba.

  The guards had seen Sergei, but they hadn’t reacted

  Mr. Hidimba was not a man but a monster called a

  yet. In his heavy gray overcoat, tattered pants, and

  rakshasa. The word meant nothing to Sergei, but the threadbare sweater, he looked like one of Seattle’s

  koldun said when he destroyed this rakshasa, they many homeless. He even clutched a paper cup in his

  would release Lilya and pay her two hundred thousand

  right hand. They’d put a few pennies in the cup, and it dollars. The idea of his young wife in her own house and rattled with each step. It might be enough to fool the

  driving her own car propelled him forward. They had

  guards, get him close.

  never known that kind of luxury in Russia. The demon

  Tears streamed down Sergei’s face, and his mouth

  shifted inside him, claws or scales pressing against his hung open. The heat from his own breath was a blast

  organs in a broken-glass caress. He put his head down,

  furnace, and his lips blistered beneath it.

  keeping his eyes on the sidewalk, and took another

  Fifty yards.

  body-tearing step.

  The tiny part of his mind not given over to suffering

  fought desperately to be heard. It urged him to fight

  the withering furnace inside him, pushed him to take

  those last steps, and insisted he remember Lilya’s face,

  The rational part of his mind

  her smooth skin and easy smile, her blue eyes like perfect sapphires. He held the image in his mind, still and lovely,

  still held sway over the shrieking

  a shield to see him through his final moments.

  madness of his pain.

  Twenty steps.

  Sergei broke into a staggering run toward the

  entrance of the building, a set of glass double doors.

  Then another.

  The guards saw him for what he was, and their hands

  Two hundred yards.

  darted beneath their jackets. He rushed them.

  Large men in black suits stood in front of the

  One guard managed to get his gun out, but Sergei

  building, men in Mr. Hidimba’s employ. There would

  barreled into him and grabbed the man by his jacket.

  be guns beneath their coats. If they killed him before

  He pressed his mouth against the guard’s, and hellfire

  he could get inside, his
suffering would mean nothing

  surged up his throat. He heard the man’s screams distantly and Lilya would die. He would spend his last agonizing

  over his own, but the thunder of the other guard’s gun

  moments with the knowledge she would suffer before

  was shockingly loud. The gunshot was a pinprick against they killed her. The koldun promised him that.

  the awful misery of the demon inside him.

  Sweat dripped from his brow, and his lips contorted

  His struggle with the first guard had propelled him

  in a rictus grin. People on the street moved away from

  through the doors and into the lobby. He fell to his knees

  HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

  13

  on the tiled marble in front of a bank of elevators. More set the world ablaze.

  bullets tore into him, but it didn’t matter because the elevators opened and a well-dressed Indian man came

  barreling out. He saw Sergei and his eyes grew wide. His

  It had gone down like a

  form shimmered, revealing something terrible beneath

  hurricane of razors.

  his dark beard and designer suit. Something with claws

  and fangs and black eyes like chips of obsidian. The

  rakshasa charged, claws reaching, but it was too late.

  The demon’s hellfire scorched the skin from his body

  Sergei threw back his head, opened his mouth, and

  and turned his flesh to blackened meat, but in Sergei’s the demon, gorged on his soul, came pouring out of

  final seconds, Lilya’s face filled his mind. The blue sea him. It rose up from the shattered wreck of his body,