Category: Short Fiction

Short Fiction

The Ohio by Don Stoll

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There’s no town today where Indian Hollow, Illinois, used to be. You could start at Cairo and head six or seven miles north to Mound City and never find a trace of Indian Hollow along the way. But if someone told you there used to be a town in between Cairo and Mound City that’s not there anymore, you could maybe figure out what had happened to it because for the whole six or seven miles you’d see the Ohio River on your right. You might guess that flooding had made the town disappear even if you’d never heard of the Ohio River flood of 1937. The flood of 1937 killed four hundred people and left a million homeless. It put Mound City under twelve feet of water.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Sonatina by Daun Daemon

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Lost and found.

That’s where Kathleen would go if this had happened at a big box store, her carelessness broadcast over the loudspeaker. Instead, she lost something precious in the snow, in deep, cold, silent snow. Beautiful, but impossible to search — unlike the hard floors and ordered aisles of housewares and sports equipment, toiletries and toys.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Short Fiction, Writing

Daddy’s Girl by Hugh Cron – Warning Adult Content.

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Emma was pissed off. She hadn’t seen him since he got out of jail after doing a weekender. He’d been huckled for theft and fighting with the security guard who caught him. She knew Sean’s logic only too well. Getting done for the theft was fair enough but the fighting was the guards fault for catching him.

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All Stories, Horror, Short Fiction

The Eleventh Step by Hugh Cron

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I hate that eleventh step. It’s the darkest one. It always has been. I remember noticing it when I was around twelve years old but I couldn’t say anything, not to my parents.

I blamed them. I thought when they died it would leave me alone. It didn’t.

I’ve suffered that step for forty years now. But I don’t think I’ll need to for much longer.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 272 – A Norwegian Hero, Assuming Wankers And A Walloper With A Door.

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Well here we are at week 272. We thought it best as week 271 was last week and using that again would just be pish.

The weeks are fair flying in. We’re nearly half a year in.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

New Strangers by Rylan Shafer

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“Hi, is this Mark? Mark Chance from Deakins High School?”

Shane was sitting in front of his laptop. On the screen, an image of two young boys standing in the shade of a half-pipe, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. A date, digitally imprinted in yellow, told Shane the photo was taken the spring of 2006. The boy on the right had a bloody chin and was smiling, pushing his cheeks up and squinting his brown eyes. His hair was black with brown roots and hung past his jaw. Red speckled his white Thrasher shirt. The other threw his head back in laughter, his half-black-half-bleached hair unkempt. This one wore black pants and a black The Clash tee.

“It’s Shane Lynch.”

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Short Fiction

Shindig, Shivaree and Hellfortootin’ Honeymoon Time by Tom Sheehan

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Me and Ivaloo were honeymoonin’, a sure out shindig, shivaree and hellfortootin’ honeymoon time, and I’m Everett Musdane, along with some of our celebratin’ friends at a mountain motor court, on a grand flat spot in the Ozarks, being Lorded over by the midnight stars across the sky like bright sand pebbles flung out of a huge bucket. The small cabins, all with porches out front and parkin’ spaces out back, were arranged in a circle around a fireplace in a grassy court and celebratin’ area, with only one entrance to the grassy court for the owner’s vehicle for service stuff. The owner was Slim Slocum and the place was called Slocum’s Cozy Cabins and he one-time pitched for that St. Louie team.

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Short Fiction

On This Warm July by J Kierys

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Her name was Sandy and she lived in a small town everybody thought was rotten. A stench of decaying mashed beets permeated the stagnant local air because there was a sugar factory in the middle of the town and half its population was employed there, squashing sugar beets for a living, stinking up the atmosphere. You couldn’t escape from that foul smell, it haunted you like the ghost of somebody you murdered, day and night, ever since the mayor had thought it’d be a fabulous idea to have the sugar factory running twenty-four hours a day every day, to lower the unemployment levels that way and keep the revenue flowing in steadily.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Short Fiction

Fiona and the Footfallfollower: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical by Leila Allison

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But First, Noted Supernaturalist Miss Stoker-Belle, Unnecessarily and Inexplicably Evacuates the Contents of Her Mind 

Before I educate the readers on the ways of the Footfallfollower ghost, I’d like to introduce an innovation to the world of literature; an innovation of my invention (here, I will allow the suspense to build). Of course no stylistic innovation can spontaneously occur without inspiration. Hell, even Shakespeare played Hollingshead for a stooge–Right? In my case the Big Idea presented itself in the otherwise useless world of modern pop music–specifically that dodge-word creators of such use to obscure naked acts of plagiarism–namely, “sampling.”

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Perfectly Split by Hugh Cron

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Daniel planed the final piece of timber. A few more shavings and he knew that it would fit. He wasn’t happy with one section so he spent another minute sanding it.

He admired his work.

The other two stood on plinths. He never considered himself arrogant. They were beautiful and in perfect proportion.

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