-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 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…
February 29, 2024
Fantasy Stories Marvel Chukwudi Pephel

Tragopolis

In the heart of a vast and mysterious forest lay a city like no other – Tragopolis. It was a fablesque city hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world. It was a place where secrets bloomed as bountifully as the surrounding flora. It was a city where…
February 15, 2024
Science Fiction Stories Jasnoor

Ethan Sheldon's Death

<< Ethan Sheldon’s [Deceased] Brain Autopsy >> Damn, this one's going to be a long one—an all-nighter mopping the floors in this creepy ass place. There is no music or sound except the splashing noise of cleaning fluid. I'm in a hallway; there's nothing to…

“If only...”

“‘If only,’ ‘if only,’” the stranger interrupted, mimicking a whining child before resuming his usual gravelly tone, “Nearly everyone starts with ‘if only.’ I’m sick of hearing it!”

“Can I just get this off my chest, please?” Nigel asked. “After everything that’s happened, I think I’m entitled to rant for a bit!”

The stranger nodded a begrudging assent and Nigel continued, “If only the weather had lasted one more day. It had been perfect all week; dry, cool, light breeze. But come the actual day of the race and the sun comes out blazing like a prize-fighter out of retirement. ‘Someone up there doesn’t like me,’ I thought.”

The stranger snorted and smirked simultaneously.

“It had seemed inspired at the time, the idea of running a marathon for charity. Mind you, that was when I was sitting at a dinner table, full of wine, spouting off among friends. How was I to know the training would be so much easier than the actual race? It’s all very well jogging along in Lycra, but, let me tell you, foam rubber fashioned into the likeness of a rhinoceros is freaking heavy. And hot! You’ve never felt such heat - it was unbelievable!

The stranger gave another knowing smirk but Nigel was on a roll, so he ignored it.

“It was okay at first, but come noon, I was sweating like a drugs mule going through the green channel...,”

“Yep, got a load of them in ‘ere ‘n all.”

“What?”

“Drugs mules.”

“As I was saying, I knew it was gonna be hard but it was for such a good cause. The local playground was a disgrace. The other ones in town had shiny swings, hi-tech roundabouts, fancy new witch’s hats. And there’s ours with a climbing frame in the shape of a tank that’s been there since world war two! Anyway, it was awful. All those people cheering us along but all I could hear was my own breathing and the thump, thump, thump of the enormous arse...”

The stranger guffawed.

“Not mine! The rhino’s! I couldn’t see properly, blinkered by this stupid, tiny opening at the front, bumping up and down with every step.... Is something wrong?”

“No,” the stranger managed before bursting into laughter.

“Just what is it that you find so amusing?”

The stranger struggled to compose himself. He did not answer. Instead, he asked, “This good cause: why did you have to raise funds for it? Isn’t that the duty of some bureaucratic body or other? Isn’t that what you pay taxes for?”

“Haven’t you heard? We’re in times of austerity! The council said they’d match whatever we raised in the community so that we’d get top-quality playground equipment.”

“And you believed them?” There was a pause followed by a long “Hmmmm.”

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” Nigel asked, raising his voice.

“Nigel, Nigel, Nigel. Parish councils, county councils, borough councils, committees, quangos, governments: whatever you want to call them, all bureaucratic set-ups are where we do our best work! We love them, adore them. The more you set up, the happier we are. The opportunities there for us to entertain ourselves are endless: complacency, nepotism, idleness, arrogance, deceit, sleaze as well as everything from stationery-cupboard theft to outright fraud and corruption. They’re ourplaygrounds, if you will.”

Nigel met the fixed gaze of the stranger. A thought began to take shape that was so terrible he tried to shut it out but it remained, half-formed, lurking in a dark corner of his mind.

“Perhaps I was naive, but I took them at their word. Then, well, with all that heat... I felt terrible, but all I could think about was the kids and their faces when they saw the playground of their dreams.”

“Well, you survived and, credit where credit’s due, you were the driving force behind a record-breaking fund raiser. You can blow your own trumpet here.”

“Yes, yes,” Nigel nodded. “You’re right. Not deliberately, maybe, but I was the driving force. All because of my heart attack and all the publicity, we raised over a million pounds! You can’t imagine how happy everyone was. Then those bastards started backtracking, giving us a load of flannel about ‘budgetary constraints,’ ‘unforeseeable and exceptional circumstances,’ blah, blah, blah,” Nigel sniffed. “We were still chuffed to bits. They gave us the amount they reckoned they could reasonably have expected to fork out; a paltry amount in comparison to all those donations that had flooded in...”

“Humankind, so full of compassion,” said the stranger.

“Anyway, the site was shut for nine whole months. The kids missed their playground...”

“Bet the parents missed it more,” the stranger chipped in.

“But there was a lot of excitement. We were all expecting such great things. With all that money, I was sure we’d have the very best park in town, if not the whole county!”

Nigel avoided meeting the stranger’s gaze directly, but from the corner of his eye could see him pulling a face of mock-sympathy. He might as well have said “diddums,” but Nigel was past caring. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. Tears and snot flowed freely. It was difficult to speak, but he was determined to finish his story.

“Come the day of the grand opening, I got down there early, camera at the ready and I... I couldn’t quite believe what I was looking at. No one could. There was the same old equipment - two swings, a slide and a springy donkey - albeit with a lick of paint - just moved around a bit. There were some new stepping stones but they led to a tiny sandpit that already had cat shit in it. The tank climbing frame was still there but with the long barrel removed - something to do with ‘European safety regulations.’”

“Ahh, yes. Gotta love the European parliament!”

Nigel shot the stranger a sideways glance.

“Sorry, Nigel,” he said without a trace of sincerity, “Do go on.”

“Everyone started to complain and ask exactly how the money had been spent. That slimeball councillor started going on about the consultants they’d paid thousands - no, tens of thousands - to tell us all we should be encouraging our children to use their imagination. I nearly went for him then, but I stopped myself. I only found out how conned we’d really been when I was out running again...”

“You learnt your lesson, then,” the stranger muttered.

“It was a half-marathon for the British Heart Foundation. I turned the corner at St Michael’s...,” Nigel ignored the stranger’s flinching. “And nearly ran into him as he stepped out the driver’s side of a brand-spanking-new Mercedes SLS; top-level spec - two hundred grand’s worth of car. Him! A spotty council employee, a civil servant, shitty rap music blaring out of his optional Bang & Olufsen sound system...,” Nigel realised he was shouting. The stranger was nodding.

“That would be enough to drive any man to... well...”

“I’d do it again,” Nigel growled. “If I had the chance.”

“Well, you’ll find him here somewhere, so feel free! In the meantime...”

“He’s here? You mean... I’m... This is, actually...”

“That thought’s fully formed now, is it, Nigel? You were never going to survive a second heart attack, I’m afraid. All that running, then jumping that guy...”

“I’m dead!” Nigel gulped. He looked around. He’d known all along, and yet it hadn’t seemed possible. “So you must be...?”

“I am Baalberith, Secretary of the Archives of Hell and Demon of Blasphemy and Murder at your service,” said the stranger, and he gave a deep bow.

“But why?” Nigel wailed.

“Oh, I am sorry, but only our top sinners get checked in by the Lord Satan Himself. You know, war criminals, serial killers, personal injury lawyers...“

“No! I meant, why am I here? When I did so much for all those good causes? It’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair. Neither’s death. But, if you really need an explanation.... Let me see, it’s all in your file. Yep, quite a long list, my friend. I see you’ve done a bit of coveting - your neighbour’s car, his house. And his wife. Adultery with the aforementioned. Keeping the Sabbath holy? Epic fail there. Oh, and then there’s the small matter of beating a man to death. Although...”

“Although?”

“Strictly speaking, it was kind of an accident that the council guy died. But you were beating him to a pulp when you collapsed on top of him. No one knew he was there under that huge costume - he was a small, skinny chap, after all. So, he kinda, well, suffocated. But no matter how, killing’s a definite ‘no no’ as far as ‘er upstairs is concerned. Still, you never know, she might summon you and give you a chance to repent,” the demon spat the word, “Which is up to you. Not as easy as you might think. In the meantime, enjoy your stay with us.”

With that, the demon leaned casually on a small lever to his left, and the great wooden doors to Hell swung open.

Nigel stared ahead, then turned and looked at the demon who returned his gaze with a puzzled expression.

“Problem?”

“Yeah, actually,” said Nigel. “Can I at least take this fucking rhino suit off first?”

 

 

End

 

Bio: H. T. Garton is a British author who lives in a small market town with spouse, kids and dog.

 

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