Microfiction
Oh, Winnie!
The other day I spent some time with an old friend. I read his stories over and over again. He likes to sit and think a lot of the time, but he is never sure of what he is thinking for he is a bear of little brain, so he thinks. He enjoys his friends and his favorite snack. He knows right from wrong for he tries to help but always seems to get into a fix of some kind or two. So, he thinks and sings a little tune till something pops into his small mind. Silly ole bear.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
That B*tch
So pleased I get to see his fancy new flat at last! I'm so proud of him, I really am. I mean, what mother isn't proud of her boy? Maybe all mums say this, but mine really is special. He's a good looking lad with a square jaw. I'm surprised he never brought a lot of girls home, because they do love him. And he's smart, too. Clever as the day is long. It's so lovely that he's got this flat share with another young man his own age. Now I will admit I was sceptical at first. You can't be too careful these days, right? I finally had the chance to meet the other young man, and he seems perfectly nice. I feel a bit bad having judged him so poorly without ever having met him. He was so lovely. I could tell right off, as soon as I arrived. I pride myself on being a very good judge of character. And he was just so polite! So respectful. Can I take your coat, will you take tea, all of that. Oh, he couldn't do enough for me. Of course I was really there to visit my son, but this seemed like a good time to get to know the person he be was living with. He told me "His Lordship is in his room." He said this with a little eye roll and a shrug. He's said, "You know what he's like." Well, actually, yes I do. And it's true, my boy does get taken by funny moods occasionally. Just wants to be by himself. Shuts himself away. Or goes off on his own for a while.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Hymen. Winner in The Shape of the Thing Challenge.
They called it The Final Mercy. The books said it rose from the churning blue waters after the Great Flood. It rose up into the air with all the majesty of the humpback whale. The waves subsided and land formed once again. An island twenty-three kilometres wide, thirty-four long. The great Gententia Strip. The promised land. The Fishbone Crown of Mercy had stood on its own pedestal at the centre. Burnished wood a phoenix to a people that would not be subdued. The chosen.
By River and Celia in Underlandabout a year ago in Fiction
The Nun in the Dark
It was Ava’s first week in Willow Creek, a quiet, fog-covered town buried deep in Indiana. She had moved there for a fresh start, a slower life, and a clean break from the noise of the city. Her aunt had left her a small cottage near the edge of town, close to the woods. The place felt old and forgotten, like time moved differently there. Ava kept to herself, but curiosity pulled her out one Friday evening. At the gas station, a group of local teens stood around smoking and daring each other to do stupid things. When they saw her, they called her over. “You just moved here, right?” one of them asked. She nodded. “You know the old church on the hill?” They all turned to look at the dark silhouette of a building just beyond the treeline. St. Agatha’s Church. Its spire leaned like it was trying to fall. The windows were black. The trees around it were twisted and bare, even in summer. “It’s haunted,” said another. “They say something crawls inside it at night.” Ava laughed, trying to play along. “Bet you won’t go in,” one of them challenged. “I will,” she said. She should have walked away. That night, around 10:30, Ava stood at the foot of the hill, alone. The wind howled through the trees. Her phone battery was dying, so she brought a flashlight. The climb to the church was steep. Every step forward made her stomach sink deeper. The front doors creaked as she pushed them open. Inside, it smelled like wet wood and rotting fabric. Dust filled the air. Pews were broken and scattered. Torn Bibles lay open on the floor. The ceiling had caved in at the center, and vines hung like ropes from the rafters. She stepped carefully, her flashlight beam flickering. Then she heard it. Crawling. It wasn’t footsteps. It was something soft, fast, and too smooth to be human. It came from behind her. She froze. The sound grew louder. A wet scraping across the floor. She turned. And saw her. A woman in a shredded nun’s habit. Her limbs were too long, bending backward like an insect’s. She moved on four thin legs, her body jerking like a puppet on invisible strings. Her face was pale, stretched, and wrong. Two glowing eyes stared straight into Ava’s. The thing didn’t speak. It just kept crawling forward. Ava couldn’t move. Then the nun opened her mouth, and a sound like wind through broken glass whispered, “You shouldn’t have come alone.” Ava dropped her flashlight and ran. She didn’t scream. She didn’t look back. She reached the church doors and burst into the night. And that was the last time anyone ever saw her. When the teens returned the next morning to prove she hadn’t gone, they found the church door wide open. Her flashlight lay just inside, cracked. Her phone was never found. The police searched the hill and the forest for days. Nothing. No footprints. No signs of a struggle. No body. The case went cold. But the townspeople still whisper about the girl who disappeared. Some say if you stand near the church at night, you can hear crawling just behind you. Some say you’ll see a pale woman in a nun’s dress watching from the broken window, her eyes glowing like fireflies in the dark. No one dares to go in anymore. Not even on a dare. To Be Continued......
By CreepVille Horror Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Wire Spider
He was an arachnophobe and an artist, so the wire spider was a difficult commission to complete, but he did it, and now it dominated his studio. He tried not to look at it, but it was just a metal creation, but it was a spider. He started to feel it was watching him, waiting to bite him and pierce his skin with its metal leg spikes.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
The Garden. Runner-Up in Everything Looks Better From Far Away Challenge.
The roses have returned. Pink and white, they sway gently when the breeze picks up. Perfectly still when it stops, as if bowing to the sun. As if breathing in the life they have been given. Oblivious to what lies beneath their tangled roots.
By River and Celia in Underlandabout a year ago in Fiction
The Revolution Will Not Be Circumcised
The revolution... ...will not take something away from you before you have had time to enjoy it. * The revolution... ...will always leave a tip, something off the top, a little bit extra, whether it is asked for or not.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
Lights Over London . Runner-Up in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge. Top Story - July 2025.
“Madam, you should come below.” Elizabeth took a long drag on the cigarette tucked neatly in the ornate silver holder. She ashed it in the ivory tray sitting beside an untouched glass of brandy. “You know Dickie, I still remember the fireworks at old Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. Sat right in this spot. I was sixteen, fresh from New York. Archie and his father lined the streets that day, and god knows what they did once the fireworks started,” She watched the horizon alight with activity while the tendrils of discarded cigarette ash swirled into the night through the open sitting room window. It was odd to see her London street all alive yet silently empty at the same time.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
