-The best stories on the web-
Read or link to over 1000 stories listed under Stories to the left.
Submit your short stories for review as a Word document attached to an email to: Read@Short-Story.Me

Latest Stories

March 19, 2024
Fantasy Stories Wondering Monk

Just My Imagination

The alarm clock went off and started playing an awful tune. Tom opened his eyes and closed them back, squinting. He reopened one eye and stood up to stop the torture. The phone was on the desk, in the furthest spot from the bed. Although he changed his way of…
March 19, 2024
Science Fiction Stories Ocelotlzin

Earth Is Dead

Recording… It doesn't matter who I was; I probably lived a long time ago, and I am now just a voice someone added to the audio-visual records. What is essential is the recollection of events that lead to the current state. So, a little history needs to be…
March 08, 2024
Flash Fiction Benoit

Some Enchanted Evening

It was a rugby tackle with tears: Chrissy burst in, sobbing and babbling, hugging James. Her face was all wet, eyes wild. What…? My parents split up, Dad has moved in with his boyfriend and I cannot join them. I am shut out. I have lost my dad. Torrent of…
March 08, 2024
Horror Stories Marvel Chukwudi Pephel

In The Hands Of My Legs

The car pulled up in front of the large salon. The neon sign, that sexy broad thing, on the salon'sroof read "Mr. Gil's All-night Salon". The exhaust pipe of the car was pumping solid smoke, theswirls moving from the car and towards the salon.…
March 07, 2024
Mystery Stories Vanessa Leigh Giles

Casualty of Love in the Time of Coronavirus

Chapter 1 Until Death do us Part ‘Ring, ring!’. I answered the telephone and asked, “Hello, good evening. Who’s this? “Hello.” This is Dr. Smith from Red Cross hospital. “Is this Mr. Locke, John?”, he asked, hesitantly scratching his bald head. “Yes, doctor.…
March 07, 2024
Crime Stories Robert Pook

Bar Room Trigger

Another return journey on footpaths so familiar. He strides across each crack in each paving stone. Regular loose drain covers sidestepped. Mapping long ago mapped in Richard’s desolate mind. His pace hastened by the sight of the oncoming storm. Quickening…
March 04, 2024
Horror Stories Ano Chinemerem

Sanctity

Where should I begin? I could begin by telling you about this comely boy, whom every notable person around the streets agrees his smile could charm the bills off one. Between one smile, there was his goodness, his dreams and humanity—a little far ahead?— but…
March 04, 2024
Flash Fiction Emanuel Diaz

Et Mortui Partium

As Rafael stepped out into the rain, it wasn't the ordinary drops that fell from the sky. Instead, it was a storm of souls, each one taking the form of shimmering jewelry as it cascaded toward the ground. Rubies, diamonds, and sapphires twinkled amidst the…
February 29, 2024
Poetry Jing Li Ava

London

‘Am I in London?’ "I am." Where is Elizabeth? Happy living story All of your chapter Bounlance joy Please my heart Power hand Wise mind Our baby Vow vow Love all love Miss I miss Endless wonder Bring us together Love all love Miss I miss For everything My…
February 29, 2024
Flash Fiction Rob Pook

Life Sentence of The Smith

Born nine months after his country won the World Cup.A child prodigy.Cast off at age twenty-four.Husband, father, emigree, away on the other side of the world.The blue-collar life.The dreams of success.The search for fulfillment.The long years of empty…
February 29, 2024
Mystery Stories Joshua Lowther

The Operator

Jason looked over to his right, his eyes barely able to focus themselves on the subject of his attention. His neck ached terribly from the strenuous movement. He was tired. The captain’s gaze came to rest on the rookie sonar operator sitting tense at his…
February 29, 2024
Flash Fiction Salvatore Difalco

The Chute

At dusk, we left our unit with a soft pink bundle. I carried it through the wet streets and into the black woods. I said I’d take it all the way, the bundle, but that we had to drop it in together. My wife’s green eyes flashed. “Don’t make me do that.” I…

Before I get started talking about what I did, and why I did, what I did, I need to explain that Harold was no prize. He retired from John Deere because he couldn’t get along with the guy who worked next to him on the line. Not the supervisor, mind you, but the guy next to him. Harold is a bit overweight and balding and overly sensitive about both. The new guy whom he trained and who worked next to him on the line had been teasing him a bit, or as Harold said, “giving me shit all night.” Harold worked the night shift.

It was stupid to let some schmuck get on his nerves, which is what I told him right before he gave up. His retirement checks weren’t going to be anywhere near the amount of his paychecks and the difference had to be made up somewhere, but Harold wasn’t worried. He didn’t pay the bills, I did, and I think he assumed everything would proceed as usual, only now he could sit in the recliner all day watching television until 6:00 when he sat up to eat his dinner atop a TV tray. I, however, was finished.

Although it’s technically possible, even though I’m dead, for me to return to the basement and check to see if my neck was broken or if I just strangled, but why would I? I’d tied a firm knot; climbed on the kitchen stool that I’d lugged down the basement stairs, and jumped. It’s done and as far as I can tell there are no residual effects.  Now that I’m here I’m getting along pretty well, all things considered. When I was alive I thought the worst aspect of dying would be arriving here and not have all my questions answered. Unfortunately, I was pretty much correct. No one here has all the answers, at least the ones I wanted to know, like who really shot Kennedy, where’s Big Foot, and is anything they say on Ancient Aliens true. Nobody here knows.

            Another thing. I have no regrets. I thought I’d regret killing myself or not leaving a note or feel guilty throughout eternity or something momentous and horrifying. Again, I was wrong. No regrets, no recriminations, no guilt, and can I get an amen on that one. I’ve been here a while now, although time and seemingly space are relative as Einstein would agree, and no I haven’t met him. Even though I haven’t quite figured out the where, what, and why of things, their importance has begun to lag. In fact, they’ve quickly become entirely unimportant.

            But here’s the “kicker” as they say. Apparently the marriage contract Harold and I signed some thirty-two years ago is still valid. All that verbiage about “until death us do part,” turns out to be bullshit. The way the folks on this side read it, I had an obligation to take care of Harold until he died, and I shirked my obligation by going first by knocking myself off. Suicide isn’t the issue here. No one cares about when or how you got here, but knowingly shirking your contractual responsibilities on that side causes more trouble on this side than you can imagine. Since it wasn’t “technically” my time, I’m still responsible for my contractual agreements—Harold is my contractual agreement.

            Ironically Harold’s mother is here despite all indications to the contrary. Worst of all, she’s just as ornery, difficult, and condescending as she was when she was alive. When she showed up, the first words she said was, “Where’s Harold?” When I told her he was still living, probably asleep in his recliner at this very moment with the TV blaring, she said, “figures. I told him not to marry you, and here you are without him.” Thankfully she wandered away without another word, and I haven’t heard from her since. However, nothing changes my obligation. I can either supply sufficient evidence to show that Harold caused me to kill myself, that a divorce was in process, or I could find a new wife “to love, cherish, and obey” Harold “until death.” Another woman. Fat chance.

            “This is ridiculous,” I argued. “There must be some caveats to this idiotic rule,” to which I was told I could wait until Harold arrived on this side and all would be well. “Time is relative,” I countered.

            “Remember that,” the little welcome group said as they fled their separate ways.

            “But I’m dead,” I shouted to absolutely no one. I couldn’t find Harold a new wife if I were still alive and bought one. As ridiculous as that sounded, it has been done, hasn’t it? I decided I’d have to check in on Harold.

It didn’t take long for me to locate him asleep in his recliner in front of the television. I noted that he’d exchanged the metal TV tray for a wooden one. Progress.

“Harold,” I whispered, watching for a reaction.

Immediately he sat forward staring at me. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“You can see me?”

“What do you want,” he continued, now groping his way out of the chair, knocking over an empty coffee cup perched on the edge of the TV tray.

“Get out of my house,” he yelled.

Then, just as I was prepared to explain myself, I felt a sharp tingling and a tug as someone walked straight through me, holding a gun pointed at Harold. As the gun fired, I was knocked back to where I’d come from. Harold was now standing beside me.

            “What happened?” he asked as he turned to me, recognition on his face.

            “You got shot,” I said. “Who was that?”

            “I think it was Gloria’s husband,” he muttered.

            “Gloria?” I asked. “Gloria, from across the street, Gloria?”

            “The same,” Harold said.

            “Tell me you weren’t sleeping with Gloria,” I said.

            “It’s a long story,” he said, “besides, aren’t you dead?”

            “It’s relative, Harold, it’s all relative.”

End

BIO: Pat Tyrer is a writer and lover of literature who hikes the canyons of West Texas watching birds when the sun is up and star gazing when it’s not. She writes and publishes poetry, essays, and short fiction, most recently in Literary Hatchet, Plum Tree Tavern, Bewildering Stories, and Haunted Waters Press.

 

0
0
0
s2sdefault

Donate a little?

Use PayPal to support our efforts:

Amount

Genre Poll

Your Favorite Genre?

Sign Up for info from Short-Story.Me!

Stories Tips And Advice