#short-stories

[thepersonalwords]

Love does not choose belief, place, time, situations, or race. love happens between two souls.

Haidji, Harables: Short Stories 1

[chaotic-hypnotic-erotic]

Heartache

‘Are you certain of this place?’ asked Tymon. Imara nodded. ‘This is where we would gather – myself, Chaya, and Oria.’ She looked around at the interior of the taverna. ‘Everyone is welcome in here.’ She looked at Rathi, Anathana, Axan, and the two new arrivals – Kila and Mera. ‘Glad to hear that,’ said Axan. ‘The Blueback sells a wide range of foodstuffs,’ Imara said. ‘They import food from…

[quotelr]

This isn't where I intended to be. Killing a person has a funny way of getting your life off-track.

Erin Mitchell

[gunswordfist]

(TW Blood, Vampires, Gore) My Black Action Vampire Story. Please consider spreading the word about my 307 word story here, which will become a webcomic written and drawn by me one day. The link to my story also has a built-in text-to-speech feature https://medium.com/p/16b03156c714 :

BloodPunk Dracula

[1400s France]

An assortment of Black vampires are searching the night for somebody. A small light flashes in the distance and gathers all of their attention. A short Black woman donned in dark armor is transforming her gold magic ring from a large circle of blood into two iron weapons in preparation for the impending battle. She’s Dracula, the vampires' target. Her red eyes and new curving gold swords gleam back at them. They rapidly march their way through the snow towards her.

The fastest one arrives in seconds, only to get quickly chopped up by Dracula's golden blades. Dracula's short swords begin magically sucking in streams of blood from the vampire's wounds, forcing the unfortunate vamp's body parts to stay levitated in the night air. These lifeless husks finally hit the ground as the next foolish vampire comes to strike Dracula.

Their sharp nailed attack misses after a fast back step from the Queen of Vampires. The lesser vampire's clawed hand pierces through a building's outer wall instead. Dracula breaks the ground beneath her back foot to dash in at them with her weapons held out at each side. Her right blade runs right through the row of stacked bricks beside her. In under a second, she leaps and has that same sword slash up the wall and through the neck of the arm-in-wall vamp. Dracula's feet hit the snowy ground. She turns to promptly greet the rest of the now headless vampire's corpse with a violent dance of dual blades. This time Dracula uses her mouth to blood suck their red liquid from through the air to her opened red lips. After seconds of being rendered into a hover by Dracula's powerful blood feeding, the night creature's now shrunken bits rain into the soft snow. The next fool makes their way to Dracula...

[mindbat]

Keeping Score: 10 February 2023

As you can imagine from my last post (and lack of posting through Nov, Dec, or Jan), absolutely nothing went as planned, writing-wise, over the last three months. NaNoWriMo? Sure, I got 16,000 words into it before crashing and burning. Now I have two incomplete novels sitting on my laptop, waiting for me to pick them back up 😬 The TCF? Dropped it. Okay, I delayed it first, then dropped it.…

[chunkysoup22]

[thestuffedalligator]

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

[jordanbolton]

“The Driver” by Jordan Bolton

My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is out now! Order it here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky

[traciehicks]

The Origami Heart

The origami heart appeared on Sarah’s kitchen counter, its crisp edges catching the first rays of sunlight that filtered through the worn lace curtains. The red paper stood out against the scratched laminate countertop, a bright splash of color amid the dated cream cabinets and harvest gold appliances from the 1970s. In contrast with its surroundings, the aroma of the old espresso machine making…

[short-stories-by-ezra]

Where Stories Come Alive

Where Stories Come Alive Every forgotten town hides a secret. Every shadowed past whispers untold tales. On Short Stories by Ezra, those secrets take shape, and those whispers become voices. Dive into worlds woven from imagination, truth, and everything

In every quiet corner, every forgotten town, and every shadowed past, a story waits to be told. On Short Stories by Ezra, you’ll meet unforgettable characters, unravel mysteries, and lose yourself in vivid worlds woven from truth, fiction, and everything in between. Are you ready to turn the page and discover what lies beyond?Explore now: Short Stories by Ezra

[gywair]

2024 in Review

Hola! This past year was a bit of a milestone for me. I got back to submitting more seriously after a decade or so off (I mean I’m off in every decade by “off” from submitting). So here is my break down of my accomplishments and my plans for 2025. Author seen here channeling his early 2000’s hipster energy in sunglasses and fur hat. Continue reading 2024 in Review

[mimimar]

the woman who holds the moon

prints available here. my cover for this month's issue of baffling magazine.

[theremightbecupcakespodcast]

In which Carla returns to the haunted English coastline for Victorian Christmas ghost stories. Source: Strange Stories of Ghosts and Coincidence, ed. Arthur Conan Doyle https://archive.org/details/doyle-arthur-conan-et-al.-strange-stories-of-coincidence-and-ghostly-adventure-george-redway-1891 Contents: https://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/pl.cgi?369419  Alternative source: Doyle, Arthur Conan; Scott, Sir Walter. The Valancourt Book of Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories (pp. 180-193). Valancourt Books. Fenn Bibliography: https://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/ea.cgi?162372 The Society for Psychical Research https://www.spr.ac.uk/about-spr W. W. Fenn: https://www.victorianresearch.org/atcl/show_author.php?aid=376  How to Support Cupcakes: Substack: https://www.theremightbecupcakes.com/account and please visit my lovely sponsors that share their ads on my episodes.  Where to Find Cupcakes: Substack: http:/theremightbecupcakes.substack.com Instagram: @theremightbecupcakes Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/theremightbecupcakes

[plotpulse]

The Great Deck of Immortality Unleashed

Barnoby never liked New Year’s. Everyone else was out celebrating with fireworks, fancy parties, and silly resolutions, but not him. No, Barnoby’s parents had always told him that New Year’s was pointless. “It’s just another day,” they’d say. And so, while the rest of the world rang in the new year, Barnoby stayed in his musty basement, tinkering with his spells. Tonight, though, was a little…

[themasthead]

Unsettled: Episode 85

The Ghosts of Whisper Ridge Russet and amber leaves twisted in the autumn wind, clinging to the old trees. Like many of their brethren, they soon lost the struggle, whirling in the wind. Some landed on the thick green grass. Others on the cobblestone street nearby. Every tree in the park was setting free its leaves in anticipation of the coming winter. Neighborhood children giggled as they…