Category: Short Fiction

All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Taps by DC Diamondopolous

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Peter crouched in front of the attic window and gazed down on old man Mueller’s cornfield. The plow, unhitched beyond the stalks, turned north like he meant to continue but got interrupted. Peter looked toward the barn, no sign of Mueller’s horse and buggy. The Amish and Mennonite neighbors, with their peculiar ways kept to themselves. Mueller only talked to his pa when he accused Rufus of killing his chickens, or a year ago, the day his brother’s mind broke when Gabe went screaming from the veranda twisting his ears as he ran into Muller’s cornfield. That day Mueller shot out of the house, the top of his unsnapped overalls flapping as he sprinted after Gabe, Mueller’s wife and five children dashed onto the porch, the boys still in their pajamas.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Curse by Martyn Clayton

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Sometimes investigative reporters come sniffing around for news of Lionel Fetlar.  They’ve heard he’s living on the south coast now, a town that remains resolutely unfashionable while those nearby have undergone a modest transformation following the influx of the affectedly on trend from that London.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Humour, Short Fiction

Masquerade by Roger Ley

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The seed was sown when Riley joined the amateur dramatics group. He had played a couple of minor roles, first in a Sheridan play then in a Dickens, when the email arrived from the am-dram group’s administrator. It was forwarded from a film company needing extras for a few days filming in the local market town. He arrived at the crew’s temporary encampment in the central car park and was told he would be playing a policeman. He hadn’t worn a uniform since he’d been a scout and was surprised by the feeling of empowerment it gave him. The helmet, the collapsible truncheon, the mock pepper spray, it was a new dawn, he felt marvellous, confident. He was somebody, he was a policeman.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Shoe in the Wall, or Viola’s Place by Tom Sheehan

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Day closed in around me, and the night that followed, reverie and recompense fighting for equal space, or so it seemed, for hours on end. I had come down the road for about 30 miles, my car loaded with a good assemblage of scrap wood from packing crates, the heft and feel of each piece hanging on my fingertips, like echoes on the rebound; you know, the kind that refuse to let you sleep, wondering what tree in what forest a man with a purring chain saw in his hand had figured to be good enough for cutting. Their images were locked up tight for me: I had cut wood in the state forest for six years at that point and tree selection had never bothered me, winter warmth with odds had grabbed me from slumber, working with my saw, the split logs in stacks growing each day in measureable cords.

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All Stories, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 171 – Candy-Floss, Carbolic And Diane’s Fertile Imagination – This Contains Adult Content.

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Here we are at week 171. The site is healthy and any challenges we have had, have been interesting and caused much debate.

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All Stories, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 170 – Comfort, Pride And A Rebellious Pish.

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Hi folks, another week has came and went.

There’s a lot going on in the world but to be truthful it’s all so depressing that it’s hardly worth mentioning.

If you are worried, don’t be.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Lilly-Anne by James McEwan

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When I heard the front door close I dashed to the window. From behind the lace curtain I watched Lilly-Anne skip down the steps onto the street. Palpitations fluttered in my chest, my arrhythmia raced like a motor-cross Kawasaki skidding sideways across sand. She walked along the street in black low-heeled shoes, light blue stockings and her coat flapped with each step exposing her knees, her handbag hung over a shoulder. Those lips glistened with gloss; no colour, such a pale face. She looked ill. I groaned, perhaps her boss will give her the day off; I wished. She made her way along the road out of my view.
I sat down and began my breathing mantra; in for five seconds and out for five until I calmed myself sufficiently to let the pulsating surge in my groin subside. My hands no longer shook and I could pick up my coffee.

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All Stories, Horror, Short Fiction

Ugly by L’Erin Ogle

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The muses are beautiful, but dangerous.

They are kept in silk lined stalls.

They have a very short life expectancy.  Two days from the time the first stitch is placed, because without food and water the skin dries up and shrivels, hanging too loose on the body to properly ink.

They are all silent, in honor of the very first mute muse, the first muse to become a book.  The thing is, no one even remembers the poems or title.  They only know the legend of the mute muse.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Receipt at Ogden’s Twist by Tom Sheehan

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Young Trace Gregson, thin and curly at eleven and generally happy-faced, cringed whenever he saw Dirty Molly Sadow. If there was such a thing as a bad witch about in the world, she was it. People said her toes were black with earth rich as The Hollow, and that she smelled foul as chicken leavings.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Many Sad Fates of the Family Jones  by Lucy Caird

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My Mum didn’t die a peaceful death. She got bitten on her toe by a rattlesnake whilst walking through the big park at night in her flip flops. She didn’t have the cell phone with her because my Dad had it that night. The poison got into her veins and stopped her heart. The next time when we saw her, she was all stiff and puffy. But her face was angry, most likely about the cell phone, I think. My Dad says she comes back in the form of a hurricane every few years or so and it’s our goddammed duty to weather the storm. He says they can call ‘em whatever they want – Irma, Katrina, Harvey, but they all Hurricane Josephine to him.

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