Tag: childhood

All Stories, Fantasy

The Old Fisherman by Joe Ducato

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Every night the pictures on his lampshade came to life.  Rodeo cowboys on galloping stallions threw ropes at the moon.

The boy’s sister once called him “Nutsy-Crackers” because of the strange things he was always seeing.  Later she shortened it to just Crackers.

In the middle of the night, he lifted the window (quiet as a thief) climbed out and lowered himself to the ground, praying that the weight of all the coins in his pocket wouldn’t rip through the material.  The rest of the house slept.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Missing by Kayla Cain

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As Molly pushed her dolls’ faces together and danced them around her bedroom window sill, she could see Mr. and Mrs. Green in their house next door. Molly named her favorite boy doll Bill and her prettiest girl doll Jill – last name Green, but no one else knew that.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Night Sounds by Tom Koperwas

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Content that some readers may find upsetting – refer to the tags on the bottom of the page

Small towns are quiet places at night, especially the town of Hush. That’s what made it the ideal place for eight-year-old Sammy Keen to live in. The skinny boy with piercing dark eyes, a towering forehead, and large, floppy ears looked forward to bedtime every night, unlike his friends at school, who cherished the day and its fun activities under the bright sun. Changing into his pajamas, he’d jump into bed and turn off the lights. A smile would form on his face as he gazed at the open window and began to listen to the sounds outside, for Sammy was a gifted child with a wholly unique talent and the intelligence to utilize it.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Imaginary Friends by Gareth Vieira

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“What’s it like, being imaginary?” asked Lisa Hannigan.

She sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, gazing down at her imaginary friends, Sally and Qney, who mirrored her posture on the carpet below, knees tucked neatly beneath their chins.

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All Stories, General Fiction

In Polite Company at the End of the World by Laurel Hanson

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“The serving girl’s run off,” Cathryn said as she set the tea tray down on the blackened linen, “so I’ll be mother.”

Her guests inclined their heads politely and she poured, apologizing for the lack of sugar. “It’s the war of course, not a lump to be had for love nor money.” Her guests murmured softly. They understood, but still, it was frightfully embarrassing not to serve a proper tea. Why, she even had to make do with buttered bread instead of cucumber sandwiches.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Waiting for Robert Nix by Héctor Hernández

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The discovery of skeletal remains in the woods near the Quitipea River has brought back memories of Robert Nix. I knew him as a kid and thought he was just weird at first—we all did, even the teachers. It was only later that I—and I alone—discovered he was actually insane; I just didn’t know the depth of that insanity, not back then, anyway. I know now.

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Short Fiction

Grayscale by Carolyn R. Russell

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From behind a second story window, we three watch for the girl. Fissured by time and fractured by turmoil, the glass allows for less than optimal viewing, but my sisters and I can see well enough to take immediate notice when her slight figure emerges from a subterranean staircase and melts into the crowd. This particular evening is boisterous and punctuated by the trappings of revelry. A new year is preparing to throw its filthy arms around the neighborhood, animated celebrants studding the sidewalks like remnants of a tenement fire.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Witch House by David Calcutt

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Once more I see myself, 11 years old, standing at the corner of the lane, and gazing through the wire-mesh fence. My three companions stand beside me. It’s late summer, early evening, the sky a bold and ever-deepening blue, the day seeming to go on without end. But gathering in the alleys and in the eaves of the houses, around the doorsteps and the feet of the lampposts, shadows are thickening, and already a scent of autumn sharpens the air. And before us, harbouring its own shadows, stands the witch house.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

Full Circle by Soidenet Gue

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The thirty-four days of my mother and father’s divorce felt like thirty-four excruciating weeks. It felt even longer on weekends, depending on what sort of breakfasts I shared with my mother at the dining table, all alone in utter, galling silence. One of her chief concerns at the beginning was my curriculum, then came my appetite. “Are you okay, son?” she would ask from time to time. I proved to be a lot tougher than she had realized. Meanwhile, the ten-pound weight loss she had suffered thus far to her own detriment appeared in full display from her cheekbones to her stomach. She would water the indoor snake plants several times on her days off if I failed to remind her not to repeat this process. I had to deal with the most critical ingredients missing from her once-palatable recipes.

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