Halloween Stories
Misser Back0:00/292.2529791× by Brett J Cole ‘Mister who..?’ he asked. Her words were always drawled when she was tired. Especially when it was that stubborn fatigue where he just knew it would take her ages to finally go to sleep. ‘Misser Back,’ she told him again. ‘Mister.
Elyse Harrison
Since I was a boy, I was always fascinated with the weather. I remember playing cricket in the street after school on a hot summer’s afternoon, then suddenly feeling the relief of the cool change wash over me. The ants would scuttle frantically about, seeking shelter before the downpour.
Martin Smith
By Martin Smith There was once a tubby young tadpole called Laddy Taddy. He lived with his parents in the poorest, murkiest part of a large pond; indeed, they dwelt right under the outlet of a huge pipe that spewed industrial waste into the pond all day and all night.
Ferris Knight
by Ferris Knight They can’t tell me what day I was admitted, just that it was 71 days ago. So does that make it July 7? I don’t remember. That’s unsurprising, considering. Packing, I took what I thought I needed for what I hoped was a maximum
Short stories
By Beryl Stott Mark got off the bus and looked around. The air was soft and sticky, unlike anything he had felt before. The tropics. He was amazed at the lush foliage everywhere, every plant so much bigger and more colourful than he was used to. The driver had unloaded
Tiaan Kulkens
By Tiaan Kulkens A blue too polished to be trusted stretches across the sky, slick and overconfident. It hangs there without a seam or cloud, humming with stillness. The kind of sky that doesn’t blink. Heat clings to the footpath, low and invisible, and the jacket on my back
Beryl Stott
By Beryl Stott The white coated figure moved towards her. It seemed as if he was walking in slow motion. There had been no news for hours and now Gabe Fuller, head of the whole Futureassured project had obviously been called in. This was not a good sign. It suddenly
Melissa King
By Melissa King Cerisse pressed her hands over her ears as the first alarm of the day echoed through the station, the shrieking ghost of a Stuka Siren almost three centuries since the last one was decommissioned. 494 hz rose to 587 hz and fell again; dirty, low frequencies that
Adam Stone
By Adam Stone ‘Hand me the right-handed hammer, will ya Josh?’ Josh hesitates over the toolbox for just a moment, barely long enough to say for sure that he actually considered right versus left-handed hammers. But still, long enough that his boss, Glenn and his chippy guffaw like
Short stories
Short story