CONTENTS

03 THE LITTLE ONES

NICOLE TANQUARY EXECUTIVE STAFF

04 LATE SUPPER
TERRY AGOLD
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Ben Wolf

06 17 RICHCROSS STREET
STEVEN JENKINS
EXECUTIVE EDITOR
Andrew Winch

09 A VERY BAD GIRL

NATALIE MEPHAM
CREATIVE DIRECTOR
Arpit Mehta

10 PUMPKIN NIGHT
DJ TYRER HAVOK STAFF

10
EDITOR
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
C L RAVEN Avily Jerome

11
ASSOCIATE EDITOR
THE MONSTER IN ME
LYNNE PLEAU L Kristen Stieffel

11
PRODUCTION MANAGER
NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING
MATTHEW KEELEY Lisa Godfrees

12
PRODUCTION MANAGER
BURNING MAN
AERYN RUDEL Ronnell Kay Gibson

14 BATHOPHOBIA GRAPHIC DESIGNER

ANDREW WINCH Jane Hammer

16 THE FINAL COUNT

SUSAN FABIO

18 VANESSA
P JAMES NORRIS
Subscribe for free at
splickety.com

19 WON’T YOU HELP ME?

ABIGAIL DILLON

EDITOR’S NOTE
The Havok Halloween issue has always been one of my favorites, and this
year is no exception. Skeletons, Slashers, and Succubi does not disappoint in
its return to classic horror stories, the stories that make the Halloween issue
what it is. I could not have asked for a more exciting issue for my final issue
with Havok, as I am resigning and moving on to the next chapter of my life.
I will miss you all.
Wreaking Havok,

Avily Jerome
Editor

All content is copyrighted by its respective creators and is reproduced with permission.
No part of this publication may be reproduced without permission from its copyright holders.
Havok is an imprint of Splickety Publishing Group © 2018
 HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018 3

THE LITTLE ONES

Nicole Tanquary | facebook.com/nicole.tanquary.1

T
oday it was the left hand. I knew the moment I saw monster bug.” She smiled a hard, strained smile down
it limp on our back doorstep, cold congealed blood at the thing and its one torn wing, delicately clear
seeping from the skin and chewed-up ligaments. I and scaled like a dragonfly’s. “Must’ve come from the
recognized her knuckles, her wrinkles, the familiar dull- woods, is all.”
gold wedding ring still wedged on one wilted finger. It “Don’t worry about it,” she had continued, her
was hers. Just like all the other pieces had been. voice frighteningly cheery. “I’ll clean it up.”
I did notice one change in the ring, however: the And she had, grabbing a ream of paper towel,
diamond had been pried from its nest of tiny golden pinching the scruff of the thing’s neck as she carried
prongs. But that made a kind of sense. I don’t know it dangling to the woods, flicking her wrist to toss it
much about the little ones, but I know they like to into the weeds.
collect shiny things. I had watched and said nothing. But when the
After a time, because there was nothing else to next night I listened to the angry chattering outside
do, I knelt and picked up her hand and held it open our bedroom window… when later that day she had
on my palm. They had chewed it off just beneath the disappeared while I was at work and she was in the
delicate wristbones. garden, raking dead leaves out of the flower beds…
The pinky fingertip was missing, but that had been oh, I had known why.
one of last week’s gifts. It now sat in the kitchen freezer, I did all the right things, called the police and showed
carefully wrapped in plastic bags, tape, and tissue paper. them the abandoned rake and the blood spattered on
Clustered around it were her other pieces that had the worn wooden handle, but it was nothing to me,
appeared on my back step over the past month: a nail, just empty motions.
an ear, several toes, a right thumb, a forefinger. Locks All through that day, the only thing in my head had
of hair, too, blonde-stained silver that felt like dry grass been my mother’s voice, whispering: The little ones live in
when I rubbed them with my thumb. the forest. They’re tricky. They like to snitch things. Shiny
“She didn’t mean to do it, you know,” I said aloud to things especially. But you be nice to them, understand?
the night beyond the back doorstep. The dark, autumn- Be nice to them and they’ll always give back what
red trees shifted in the wind, just beyond the lawn. The they took.
leaves crackled together like a thousand tiny hands. I cradled the severed hand in my arms as I stared
You know, the night it happened, I tried to warn out into the woods. Senile or not, she had been right.
her, but I hadn’t insisted. That had been my mistake. As soon as I started being nice to the little ones…
I had run into the room when I first heard the leaving windows open, putting food out on the sills,
screech and the sharp, resounding clap. Her face had bread crumbs, sugar cubes—oh, and milk, they loved
been red, the breath puffing in and out of her mouth. the whole milk, they’d come and lap off the skin of fat
And then I had looked down and found the little one that floats to the top—as soon as I started doing all
lying on the floor in a crumpled heap of limb and wing. that, they started to give Kathy back.
We had both stared down at it as one of its arms Just not all at once.
gave a pained twitch and then went still. There were A chuckle surged up my throat and I swallowed it
black, wet eyes, open and dead; a strange iridescent back, hard, my mouth burning with bile. I had thrown
skin; a liquid seeping from a cut in its stomach where, I up the first time I found a Kathy-bit (an ear, minus its
later figured, the sharp edge of her wedding ring had earring, the cartilage full of awful tiny gnaws), but by
ripped it open when the back-handed blow had landed. now I was getting used to it.
Soon I’ll have enough to put her back together
again, a thought rang inside me, off-key, hysterical, as
Today it was the left hand. I lurched backward into the house and shut the door
behind me.
The pieces were getting bigger. Soon it would be
the other hand, the feet. Maybe an arm. The edges were
“It came flying at my face,” she had said. “I didn’t rough from where the little ones chewed through, but
mean to hit it. It just came at me.” Then she said, “I if I used thread and glue I thought I could maybe stitch
know what you’re thinking. About those things your the pieces back together. Make a whole Kathy again.
mother was always talking about. But stop it, dammit. Tottering into the kitchen, opening the freezer and
She was senile, and this… this is just a bug.” savoring the wash of cool air as it flowed out, I wondered
I looked up at her. By now the red had drained to myself how long it would take to get her head back.
from her cheeks and left behind a pale dead yellow. Maybe never. She always had such pretty, shiny
“Kathy, it has hands. Look at its face!” eyes, after all.
But she hadn’t listened, only saying, “It’s a bug. A
4 HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

LATE SUPPER
Terry Agold

M
ama got home late. “Lucy, honey, go outside “Are you bad?”
and play while I make something quick for A moment passed. Lucy heard a rustle, like leather
supper.” sliding over itself. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
Lucy smiled and bolted for the back door. “Okay, “Mama says I should always face my fears. If I’m not
Mama.” She bounded down the porch steps. The screen afraid of you, you can’t hurt me.” She looked pleadingly
door banged shut behind her as Mama clanked pots in at the back door.
the kitchen. Another rustle. “It doesn’t work that way. There
The stars were already out. A smear of deep blue are rules.”
hung on the horizon as she ran for the swing. She spun She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to turn
as she grabbed the chains and leaped into the seat, her
momentum carrying her back.
She pushed higher and higher until she was nearly She had faced her fear and
level with the top bar of the swing. The rusty chains
creaked with each pass. She locked her gaze straight
conquered it…
ahead and imagined rushing through the ocean of stars
as she swung. around now. My eyes are closed.”
Lucy stopped pulling and kicking. She closed her She turned slowly toward her unseen monster, her
eyes and let herself coast. The still, night air cooled her whole body shaking. Her heart raced.
while she was in motion. As she slowed to a stop, the “Y-you’re not going to eat me,” she stammered.
induced breeze tapered to nothing. “You’re going to be nice from now on, and stop scaring
She slipped out of the swing and stepped across the people,” she scolded.
yard, her bare feet digging into the lush grass, already “I … But you can’t …”
dampened by the muggy air. “I’m going to open my eyes now.”
“Please don’t! I don’t want to …”
She forced her eyes open and saw the creature,
but only for an instant. It seemed almost sad before it
Behind her, the rusty chains vanished in a flash of light.
began to creak. Something heavy Still shaking, she smiled, her face wet with tears.
She stood up straighter. She had faced her fear and
was in the swing. conquered it. She turned back to the house. Mama
would be so proud.
Lucy felt ten feet tall as she flung open the screen
She stooped to run her hands through the cool door. Mama busied herself stirring the macaroni and
grass. In the distance, a dog barked. Behind her, the cheese. “Supper’s almost ready, honey.”
rusty chains began to creak. Something heavy was in
the swing.
She froze.
The creaking stopped. Mama would be so proud.
She stood slowly, shaking. Cold air hit the back of
her neck.
A baritone whisper rasped in her left ear. “Don’t She could smell the ham frying. She was so hungry.
turn around.” She watched her mother for a moment, basking in her
Her eyes widened as she drew in a sharp breath. achievement.
The disembodied voice whispered in her right ear. “If “Mama?”
you look at me, I have to eat you.” Her mother shut off the stove, scooping fried ham
“Mama?” Her voice croaked, too softly for her onto a pair of plates. “Yes, sweetheart?”
mother to hear. Tears rolled down her face. “Why?” “Don’t turn around.”
“Because it’s a rule. You can’t see my face.”
17 RICHCROSS STREET
STEVEN JENKINS
There’s a storm outside. The third this month. I used to love the sound of the rain as
it pounded against the window. It felt cosy. Safe. All tucked up in bed with homework
being my only worry.
Those days are long gone.
When the lightning strikes, bringing my dark bedroom to life, I swear I can still see
the bloodstains on the wall. Mum says I’m being paranoid because there’s a thick layer
of paint covering them—but it’ll take a lot more than that to erase what happened here.
We should have never bought this horrid place. It’s cursed! I felt it the moment we
first walked through the front door. Mum didn’t want us to live here either; she wanted
the house over in Bridgeview. But after Dad lost his job at the steelworks, 17 Richcross
Street was all we could afford.

I felt it the moment we first walked through

the front door.
I haven’t left the corner of the room all night. I try to will my body to move, but I’m
too scared. What if that murdering bastard comes back? They always do that in the movies,
don’t they? Viewing the devastation like a trophy on a shelf?
Please God let them catch him soon...
But what if they can’t? I think it’s nearly impossible to catch a killer when there’s no
motive. I mean, why would someone do such an evil, heartless thing? He must have a
screw loose. Something dark and twisted living in that brain of his. Was he born that way?
Abused as a child? Whatever the reason was, that maniac woke up on September 21st, put
on his clothes, and then went on to hack a defenceless family to death with a machete.
And in their beds, for Christ’s sake!
The thunder roars again, so I cover my ears and watch the walls and ceiling creep
towards me. At least the bad weather keeps the locals away. On some nights, they act like a
mob of football hooligans, gathering outside, staring up at the windows with pure disgust.
And who the hell can blame them? This house is a bloody stain on a once peaceful street.

The thunder roars again, so I cover my ears and watch

the walls and ceiling creep towards me.

I’ve only faced the outside world a few times in the past few weeks. It isn’t exactly
fun being ignored by everyone in the neighbourhood. They tried for months to have the
so-called Murder House torn down, but Mum said they can’t because it’s a listed building,
which basically means that it’s historic. I can’t see it myself though. Just looks like any other
two bedroom house. Small garden. One parking space. finally buy this wretched place. Let them paint over the
Double-glazed windows. Although, after what happened darkness with something better. Something normal.
here, I doubt this place will be forgotten in a hurry. But who in their right minds would buy a murder
house? A slaughter house?
No one, that’s who!
But who in their right minds So let the locals soak these walls with petrol. Let
would buy a murder house? them burn this museum of pain to ashes. Maybe then
this will all be over. Maybe then I can sleep again, and
forget about the night he came for us. The night he
The storm illuminates the room again, and I see the stood in my bedroom doorway, glaring at Lucy and me
spot. That spot no amount of scrubbing could remove. It’s with glazed-over eyes, the stench of whiskey reaching
where his first victim was found. Blood oozing from her our bunk beds. The machete trembling in his grip.
split skull, seeping through the thin gaps in the wooden Maybe then I’ll get to smile again.
floor. I close my eyes because the memory is too vivid. But for now, my family and I are trapped here, stuck
I call out to Mum, but she doesn’t hear. I start to cry, with these horrific memories. In this claustrophobic
but no tears leave my eyes. I’m desperate to run, but prison. In this suffocating limbo. Praying for a great big
there’s nowhere to go. I want to hide under my bed, light to shine down on 17 Richcross Street, and beam
but my room is bare. No furniture. Just an empty shell us up to Heaven.
where a happy home once stood. Well, all except Dad, of course.
Frustration, loneliness, terror—they burn through me That bastard can burn in Hell!
like boiling water. Let this nightmare end. Let someone

Born in South Wales, Steven Jenkins began writing stories at the age
of eight. His inspiration came from a love for ‘80s horror movies, and
novels by the late Richard Matheson. After becoming a husband and
father, Steven spent his free time writing short stories, which gained
publication in Dark Moon Digest: an American horror magazine. Finally,
in 2013, Steven got his debut ghost novel, Fourteen Days, published by
Barking Rain Press.
 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
year. If she didn’t meet her quota this year, the elders
Agly pointed to the cauldron full
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
wouldn’t miss just one, and he wanted to have the
All he needed to do was slice
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

S
ergei 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
still held sway over the shrieking sapphires. He held the image in his mind, still and lovely,
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
his dark beard and designer suit. Something with claws
hurricane of razors.
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, of her eyes swallowed what remained of his soul, and,
a living conflagration that engulfed Mr. Hidimba and at last, quenched his pain.
STAFF FEATURE
BATHOPHOBIA
Andrew Winch

The cave floor pushed back against Cyrus’s heaving He blinked into the darkness, and something
chest. He felt like he’d been crawling for days, and the shimmered at the edges of his vision. The overwhelming
slimy walls seemed to close in tighter and tighter. But smell wasn’t so rotten in here. More acrid, like the bile
there was no going back. Not just because he didn’t rising up in his own throat. It stung as he allowed his
have the space to turn around, but because of what lungs to expand farther than they had for hours. And
was chasing after him. then the shimmering formed a shape. A blob. The outline
He would have stopped, or at least slowed to catch of something stretched out before him. Bluish-green,
his breath, but the stench came in waves. It wafted and unfathomably deep.
up the tunnel behind him, as if the earth itself were An underground lake.
belching up rotten decay. The natives had warned His sonar readings had been right. His team had
him, calling it, “The belly of the beast,” in their native laughed at his claims of water beneath the desert, but
tongue, claiming that the blind demons living in its he’d been right. And if he could make it back to the
depths could smell a single drop of blood. But glory surface and tell the others, he could save hundreds
never came without risk. with this new information.
Cyrus tried to turn and look back, but a sharp rock He pressed his feet into the muck, stood up, and
bit at the side of his scalp. The sting flashed through glanced back the way he’d come. Another wave of putrid
his skull, sending will-o-wisps dancing through the darkness. He couldn’t go back. His muscles ached and
darkness. Despite the searing pain, he relished the his head swam, but he had to keep moving forward.
temporary light, and as it faded, he was again left with Across the lake.
complete nothingness before his eyes—and that vile If only he still had his equipment. His scuba gear.
stink swelling up from somewhere behind. But there was no time for that now as he stepped to the
water’s edge. It was deathly still as he squinted down
into its depths. Faint light shone from somewhere far
But glory never came below. The light shifted and coiled, drawing him in with
a mix of dizziness and intrigue. The water felt impossibly
without risk. warm against his bare foot. It embraced him. Ripples
spread out away from his body, and he continued in
deeper until the liquid closed in around his neck. His
He inched forward, each movement hindered by heart thudded against his chest. Against the water. But
protruding stalactites and stalagmites. His wetsuit was he stretched out and started to swim, looking down at
in tatters, and ageless muck burned into every cut. His the swirling lights below him as he went.
handcam had died hours ago, and with it his last source Water lapped against the far bank, giving him a
of light, and his last message to his waiting daughter. ray of hope. He swam harder. Another wave of gut-
The thought forced a curse from his lungs, but the wrenching air rolled over him, and when he looked back,
darkness swallowed it. He crept forward again with it was as if the light had reached up out of the water
failing limbs. To his surprise, he was able to reach out a and was crawling into the narrow tunnel behind him.
little farther this time. He stretched his head up higher No, not into it, but out of it. And not crawling, but
and was even able to get his knees under him before slithering. It was already slipping down into the lake,
his shredded back scraped against the tunnel above. something like a glowing tapeworm as big around as
He crawled faster. Rose up higher. And then the Cyrus’s head.
ground gave way under his hand. He slid downward, his
weary heart now picking up speed. The world shifted
and he was on his back, and then on his side, rolling. And then the ground gave way
He cried out, and the sound echoed in all directions. under his hand.
The ground was softer than expected where he hit the
bottom, and his fingers sank into the muck. He was
out. The tunnel had opened into a cavern of some sort, Panic gripped his chest. “I’m Cyrus King.” He choked
though he still couldn’t see. as the warm bile splashed into his mouth. “I’ve survived
every cave on this God-forsaken desert, and I’ll not die from the depths. Hundreds of them. Long and snake-like.
in this one. I can’t.” Something brushed against his leg, causing him to
scream. The echoes seemed to enliven the creatures.
The viscous liquid roiled and tightened around Cyrus’s
The overwhelming smell wasn’t legs and torso. The bone in his thigh snapped. Waves
of paralyzing pain as the water around him turned
so rotten in here. crimson. The demon-worms gulped at it with faceless
mouths. Cyrus’s lungs filled with the fluid and his head
went under the surface.
He turned and paddled with the last of his strength. He blinked. He could see the bottom. It shone
As he did so, the radiance grew. Not from behind him, brilliantly. And then all was darkness as the undying
but from beneath. The lights writhed as they rose up depths swallowed its prey.

Andrew Winch is the executive editor for Splickety Publishing Group. When he’s not helping
others polish their writing, he’s creating worlds, weaving plots, and solving mysteries of his own.
Check out his weekly adventures at raisingsupergirl.com, follow him on twitter (@andrewjwinch),
and like him on facebook (facebook.com/andrewjameswinch).
16 HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

THE FINAL COUNT

Susan Fabio | susanfabio.wordpress.com
Thirteen… fourteen… face, hanging like an extreme sports enthusiast from a
Adam lay in bed, counting the baby spiders crawling silk bungee cord. The spider swayed back and forth—its
out of his ceiling air vent. The miniature creatures fangs moving up and down—its pedipalps reaching out
scattered, seemingly unaware of which direction to to caress his cheek.
go. But when the twenty-fifth spider poked its adult- Too scared to move, Adam stared into the creature’s
sized legs through the vent, a line formed, each spider eight eyes until it ascended into the newly created
scurrying into the correct position. web that spanned the ceiling from wall-to-wall. Helper
Fearing the invaders might beeline for his bed, the spiders swung from one corner of the room to the next,
boy bolted for the hall. There, he stood, bare chested, perfecting any gaps in the design.
panting, watching from the doorway as the lead spider One thought consumed Adam’s mind. I’m dinner.
trekked across the ceiling, around the overhead light His heart hammered in his chest. He rolled off the
fixture, and into the gap between the top of the closet bed, and tiptoed across the room, his comforter covering
door and the adjacent doorjamb. his head and body.
With each passing minute, the army of arachnids When he reached the hallway, he quietly shut the
grew… and so did the size of their bodies. bedroom door.
________________________________ “Mom!”
________________________________
“They came out of the air vent and went into there.”
Adam’s voice wavered; his trembling finger pointed to Several minutes later, Adam’s mother stood trembling
the paneled closet door. in the hall, a flyswatter in her right hand and a can of
His father stood at the doorway, hairy knuckles bug spray in her left. “At the count of three, you open
resting on the elastic band of his plaid boxers. “How the door and I’ll run in. When I get to the closet, I want
many times do I have to say this? You’re thirteen years you to close the door. And whatever you do, don’t
old now. You can handle wayward spiders.” He removed come inside.”
his wire-rimmed glasses and kneaded fists into his He nodded. “You can do this, Mom.” He swallowed
bloodshot eyes. the lump forming in his throat.
His mother took a deep breath and began to count.
“One …two …”
With each passing minute, the “Three.” Adam opened the bedroom door. The
hinges squeaked.
army of arachnids grew… and His mother poked her head inside the room, craning
her neck in all directions. “I see the web,” she whispered,
so did the size of their bodies. “but no bugs.”
“They’re probably hiding.”
She entered the room, her knees visibly quivering.
“I swear, Dad. There were at least fifty of them.” When his mother reached the closet, Adam took a
His father repositioned his glasses on his nose and deep breath and closed the bedroom door as instructed.
opened the closet. He peered inside, turning his head left, Screaming ensued shortly after, followed by loud
then right. “No bugs.” He sighed and moved strands of thuds.
his hair over his balding scalp. “Go back to bed, Adam,
and don’t you even think about waking me up again.”
“Yes, sir.” A warm lump festered beneath
Adam crawled under the sheets, tucking the edges
tight around his bony legs. There was no sign of the
the usually smooth skin.
spiders, and his wide eyes soon gave way to the heaviness
of the late hour.
________________________________ And then there was no sound at all.
Adam collapsed in the hall, tears cascading down
At three o’clock in the morning, Adam awoke from his cheeks. He dug his fingernails into the raised welt
a not-so-peaceful slumber with an incessant urge to upon his forehead, the itching growing in intensity.
scratch. With eyelids still closed, he brought his hand When he felt liquid on his fingertips, he knew he’d
up to his forehead. A warm lump festered beneath the scratched too hard.
usually smooth skin. He ran to the bathroom and stared into the mirror.
He opened his eyes and goosebumps flooded his Fifteen …sixteeen …
arms and legs, prickling into place. The newborn spiders scattered across Adam’s face,
A foot-wide black spider dangled inches from his searching for a new place to hide.
 HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018 17

VANESSA
P James Norris | linkedin.com/in/pjamesnorris
The drapes parted as wind gusted into the room. tweed waistcoat and impeccably tailored trousers, a
Somewhere in the house, a door slammed. He jumped, fashionable walking stick held negligently in Its left
and then cursed himself a fool. He tried to make light hand. It had the shape and dress of a man in his early
of his startled reaction, but it fell flat even to his ear. middle years, but no man’s irises could be such a bright
He had good reason for alarm, even though he could green in the dim light of the waning moon.
not articulate the reason, even to himself. Eyes focused with such intensity on her.
Outside, the wind howled through the leaves and At first, It simply stood in their path, not ten feet
branches of the old oak. It was a sound he felt sure before them. Perhaps the slight smile was on its face
contained meaning, import. But he was incapable of when it appeared—he could not recall.
deciphering it. But he felt the puissance of that smile just as she
One of the shutters broke loose and banged against did—he could feel her shiver as her arm rested across
the wall. his forearm. With the most casual, understated wave of
He felt he should go lock it down, but he could not Its right hand It invited—no, summoned her.
leave the room in which he cowered, afraid tonight she Her arm dropped from his as though she had no
would come. control over it. When she took her first step toward It,
Come for him. he called her name, took hold of her arm, turned her
On some visceral level, he knew that one night she ever so slightly against her will or compulsion toward
would. And the wind seemed to say to him, Tonight. him. Even through her black corset, he could see that
Tonight is the night. her bosom heaved with excited breath.
He had always known it would be after the sun had But she pulled away from him, and took another
set. Her skin, so naturally pale in the light of the day, step. He called her name, weakly, but she continued
would look deliberately made-up during the night. Her toward It. He found he could not move; his feet, his
chosen dress of black, morbid during the day, would, legs, even his arms felt frozen in place. But his chest
at night, draw attention to her fine features and jet- likewise heaved, and he knew, with a terrible certainty,
black hair. that it was with a very different emotion, from a very
different primal drive.
On some visceral level, he knew A moment later, an eternity later, she was close
enough that It could take her outstretched hand. And
that one night she would. It smiled, exposing impossibly long incisors. Then Its
free arm was around her tiny waist. And Its mouth on
her neck.
And, oh, how well he knew her face. It was a part Her gasp, an obscene combination of pain and
of him he would never lose. The almond-shaped eyes, ecstasy, freed him from his immobility. He surged
the high cheekbones, and the lips that seemed to pout forward, calling her name. But a simple brief glance from
even when she smiled. How many nights had he wept It froze him, his forward momentum but unresponsive
over losing that face? legs causing him almost to fall on his face.
But then the dreams had begun, shattering all
peace. His unconscious had exacted a great price for
his acts of that night so long ago. It wracked him with His unconscious had exacted a
a guilt that he knew he did not deserve, yet could not great price for his acts of that
shirk. He had been powerless to intervene, just as she
had been powerless to resist. Mortal men and women night so long ago.
were simply no match for …
Even now, at the greatest height of his fear, he To this day, he did not know if It had mesmerized
could not bring himself to believe what had happened. him as It had clearly mesmerized her. Or if he had been
Perhaps that was Its greatest advantage: the intellectual frozen in place by fear. But he had known with a terrible
belief that such a being should have no place in God’s certainty that if It had exerted even the slightest fraction
creation. Such an irrefutable belief made it all the more of Its potency against him, his existence would have
seductive. been snuffed out as though he were a candle in a gale.
And Its very being had radiated unnatural might. Even though he knew this to be true, he had spent
They had both known of Its presence long before the time since in a fit of self-flagellation. He brooked
it made Itself apparent to their eyes. And when It had himself no forgiveness, no respite from self-repudiation.
appeared, It had appealed and repulsed at the same time. And tonight she was coming to make him pay the price
Its attire was as immaculate as it was elegant and of his inadequacy.
expensive: the latest moleskin tophat, silk shirt under Just as they had both sensed Its presence long before
18 HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018

they actually saw It, he felt her presence. hope was in vain.
And when he heard the door behind him open, and
she all but whispered his name, he turned to face her.
Its attire was as immaculate as She was so beautiful. Even though her blue eyes
it was elegant and expensive… were glowing with an impossible and unnatural light.
She smiled at him, and he could he could see that her
incisors were now fangs, almost like those of a snake.
And if he were lucky … He prayed to God in heaven And it was then, with an undeniable certainty, that he
that she would just end his miserable existence, his knew he was destined to join her in eternal damnation.
agony. But a small voice in his head warned that this
 HAVOK OCTOBER, 2018 19

THE FINAL COUNT

Abigail Dillon | dillondevelopment.wordpress.com

“Won’t you help me?” was all floating. Like he was floating.
The voice quavered. It was as desperate as the His knees unbent. His legs took steps. Behind him he
trembling hand that was raised, palm-up, towards Jacob. could hear the woman’s quavering plea—Won’t you help
“Of course I will,” he said softly, reaching down. The me? Won’t you help me?—but he soon floated beyond
fingertips of the woman suddenly snatched themselves that, as well. Places passed around him, maybe people
out of reach. did too, until he heard something snap in his leg. He
Kicking her one good leg against the ground, she
shoved herself backwards. Her other leg dragged behind
unnaturally. Fear kept her eyes wide as it lined her entire Her arm, still outstretched
face. Someone had hurt her very badly.
“Hey … hey …” Jacob knelt in front of her, trying toward him, shook violently.
to be as nonthreatening as possible. If she kept trying
to drag herself away like this, she was going to injure stopped floating. He never felt himself hit the ground.
herself even more. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay. Awareness seeped back into the edges of Jacob’s
It’s okay.” vision. Strange shapes pushed through the fog to become
“Won’t …” her breath shuddered, her teeth rattled, familiar. Imposing heights became rooflines and street
and the rest of the words came out in a sob, “…you lamps. Circling beasts became windswept leaves. And
help me?” finally, the shape hovering above him coalesced into a
human with gentle, worried eyes.
“Hey man, you alright?”
Fear kept her eyes wide as it Relief washed over Jacob. His leg was on fire, and
the rest of him hurt from striking the ground. A friendly
lined her entire face. face was exactly what he needed. He was going to
be okay. And he’d make sure the woman was, too. A

Her arm, still outstretched toward him, shook

violently. Jacob reached out and gently cupped his But it was wrong.
hands around hers. He felt the trembling fade away
as her hand rested against his fingers. He watched the
The rhythm was off.
fear fade from her eyes, replaced by an apologetic
bent to her brow and mouth; she still looked ready to grateful smile began to pull at the corner of his mouth.
burst into tears. Something pulsed from his heart toward his
Jacob could hardly blame her. She had clearly been fingertips. Eager to be free. Eager to spread.
through something horrid. It was only natural that she His hand, of its own volition, lifted toward the man
would have fear and desperation at war in her. She had in front of him, palm up.
nothing to be sorry for. Cold dread counted its way up Jacob’s spine.
“See?” Jacob gave her the softest smile he had to He tried to snatch his hand back, but the effort only
offer, “It’s okay. Now, I’m going to call 9-1—” set the limb trembling.
A convulsion shot through his hands into his chest. He tried to call out a warning, but the words forming
Pain erupted from its center. Everything beneath his in his throat were wrong.
ribs seized. He tried to fight the words, but the effort only set
Slowly, it all began beating, breathing, pulsing them quavering.
again. But it was wrong. The rhythm was off. Like it “Won’t you help me?”