Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
SECRETS
Every full moon, the villagers gathered in the clearing, clutching secrets like offerings. No one remembered when the tradition began—only that the moon demanded it.
Tonight, the sky held a silver eye, unblinking. The air shimmered with tension as old Marta stepped forward, her voice brittle but clear.
“I once let my sister drown,” she said. “I watched her slip beneath the ice and told no one.”
The wind sighed. The moon brightened. One by one, the villagers followed. A stolen heirloom. A hidden affair. A child given away. With each confession, the moon glowed warmer, fuller, as if feeding.
Then came Jonah. He was new to the village, a quiet man with scars, a limp and a dog that never barked. He stepped into the circle, eyes shadowed.
“I have no secrets,” he said.
A hush fell. The moon dimmed.
“You must,” Marta whispered. “We all do.”
Jonah shook his head. “I’ve told them all. To the wind. To the trees. To the stars. I have nothing left.”
The moon flickered. Then it spoke.
Liar.
The word echoed through bone and bark. The villagers fell to their knees, clutching their ears.
Jonah stood firm. “I won’t feed you,” he said. “Not anymore.”
The moon pulsed, furious. Lightning cracked across the sky. Trees bent. The earth trembled. Jonah raised his hand. “I know what you are. Not a god. Not a guardian. Just a hungry thing.”
The moon screamed. And then—darkness. The clearing fell silent. The villagers looked up. No light. No stars. Just a void where the moon had been.
Jonah turned to them, face pale. “It will come back,” he said. “But not for secrets. Not anymore.”
He walked into the woods, his dog padding behind him. The villagers never saw him again.
But the moon returned, eventually–smaller, quieter. And it never asked for anything again.
Sarah Stegall is a writer of speculative fiction whose work explores the eerie intersections of the Western frontier and the unknown. Her stories have appeared in the acclaimed anthology Hot Iron & Cold Blood: Tales of the Weird West, (as Jesse Allen Champion) where she blends folklore, horror, and history into haunting tales of the American West. Her novel Outcasts retold the story of the night Mary Shelley sat down to write Frankenstein, and her story Rearguard was shortlisted for a Scribe award. Sarah lives in northern California and her website is at https://www.munchkyn.com.
If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.
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