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.

EVASION OF PRIVACY

The wind howled and whistled over the hammering rain as three surviving highwaymen of a gang of five, charged towards a small wooden structure in the middle of the woods with a soaked roof glistening in the moonlight. They barged in without knocking or calling to anyone who might be inside. They slammed the door shut and all three of them leaned against it, puffing with exhaustion.

“I thought they were a myth,” one of them desperately gasped, before pushing away from the door and grabbing a nearby lantern. He looked back to their leader who shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Don’t light that. She’ll see us.”

“You don’t think she’ll already suspect we’re hiding in the only cabin for miles?”

“More than suspect, if its lit.”

“Aye,” he conceded, putting the lantern back down.

“There’s hardly space in here to fight,” the leader said, gesturing the man next to him over to the window while he kept his own back against the door.

The other looked about in the dark and tripped on a raised mat, hitting the floor. Beyond the slop of his soaked cloak, his thud against the wooden boards yielded three sounds of interest; an echo beneath, the jostling of a trapdoor, and the rattling of iron. Pushing aside the frayed matt, he felt about until his fingers found a metal ring in a recess.

Before he could announce his discovery, the window smashed. A burst of wind and rain rushed in as the man by the window was snatched out into the night.

“She’s here,” the leader of the now two-man gang yelled.

“Quick,” his only remaining subordinate offered, lifting the trap door.

The leader pulled it shut behind them, muffling the sound of the elements breaching the cabin above. They descended the stairs into a crimson-lit cave of a basement. A selection of small chests surrounded the edges while an odd, glazed-looking candle of both red wax and frank red flame sat on a small table near the concerning centerpiece; an open coffin.

With nowhere else to venture, they made their way to it.

“Full of dirt,” the bandit leader said, scooping a handful of the dried earth bed within.

“Seems as though anywhere but here would have been the best place to run,” the other brigand said.

The floor above them creaked, turning their gazes upwards.

A cunning thought occurred.

“Let’s rush her,” the subordinate said. “It’s our only chance.”

“Together,” the leader agreed.

They stormed up the stairs, through the trap door, into the cabin where the creature of the night was poised, ready to address their doomed assault. Without hesitation, they let out a battle cry before charging ahead, storming past her and out the front door, into the woods instead.

As they ran through the rain, they looked at each other, surprised, confused, and betrayed. Each intending the other as bait. The leader squinted angrily.

“What?” the insubordinate subordinate puffed. “At least you don’t have to feel guilty now.”

Barend Nieuwstraten III grew up and lives in Sydney, Australia, where he was born to Dutch and Indian immigrants. He has worked in film, short film, television, music, and online comics. He is now primarily working on a collection of stories set within a high fantasy world, a science fiction alternate future, as well as a steampunk storyverse, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over twenty short stories published in anthologies, he continues to work on short stories, stand-alone novels, and an epic series.

A discovery writer not knowing what will happen when he begins typing, he endeavours to drag his readers on the same unknown journey through the fog of his subconscious.

https://www.facebook.com/Barend3Author 

https://twitter.com/Barend3Author 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20713313.Barend_Nieuwstraten_III

https://barend3.blogspot.com

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

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.

JUDGEMENT ARM

“Aren’t you excited?” The female next to me squealed.

My palms were clenched into fists, fear chattered my teeth. No, I was not. I turn my head, not wanting to be taken for a heretic.

The conveyor belt jerked us forward. A few yelps of surprise radiated from behind me. We’re next.

A swivel of the Judgment Arm startled us. The red eye narrowed. I close my eyes simultaneous to the zapping bolt, sensing the molten heat against my skin. Glancing down, I see the pile of dust beside me. She was chosen to be reborn and I, to live.

Jay D. Falcetti (she/her) is a biracial indigenous writer who grew up on a small reservation in northern Arizona and currently resides in Washington with her family. You can find her and where her short stories are published on Instagram @jdfalcetti. Jay D. Falcetti is a pen name.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

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.

A THIMBLEFUL OF SUGAR

The crows alert me of your coming long before you arrive. Through their eyes, I watch you. Mud spatters you, and your hair carries more twigs than a bird’s nest.

The way to me isn’t easy and you are just a child. You climb over tripping roots and wriggle past strangling vines. Thorny brambles and buzzing insects slow you but a little. 

I put down my sewing and set a kettle to boil.

That’s how you arrive at my door: scratched and dirty, staring up at me with blazing eyes. Your hands are balled into fists, ready to fight. Anger covering the fear I could shut my door in your face.

“Come in,” I say. “Let me make you some tea.”

“What will it cost?” You plant your feet on the threshold and fold your arms.  

The price is different for every visitor, and I never ask for more than can be given.

Blood trickles from a cut on your forehead, dripping from your chin. I whisk the thimble from my thumb and catch a drop. “I’d say you’ve paid enough, wouldn’t you?”

The kettle whistles and you step inside.

Accepted into my shop, my home, you relax a little, taking it—and me—in. The twisted tree-trunk walls, as lined and knobbled as my body. The stacks of dusty teacups and jars lining shelves that follow every bend and curve of the shop. None of them have labels—I know their contents as well as I know myself. You lift your nose, sniff the air, and wince. 

Too many smells mix—cinnamon and garlic, sea holly and lavender—for it to be pleasant. 

“You really got a tea for anything?” You’re not one for chitchat.

I lift my kettle from the heat. “Some say so. It depends.”

“I want a tea for my family.” The words spill out in a rush. “To make them love me.”

“Ah.” I gather jars—mugwort, peppermint, sugar—and add a thimbleful from each to a teapot. “Changing the minds of others isn’t something I do.” Milk thistle. Chicory. I pour in the boiled water. “Do you think they’d love you better if they were stoats? Physical transformation is easy.”

You chew your lip as if it’s an idea worth considering. “A tea to change me, then.”

“Do you want to be a stoat?” You shake your head. “Choose a teacup.” Some agonise over that choice, you grab the closest you can reach.

I pour your tea. The pot weighs heavy in my stiff hands.

You take a sip and immediately spit. “That’s so bitter.”

“So’s the truth, sometimes.” I lower myself to a stool and pick up the sock I was darning. 

You stare into your cup for a long moment, then take a gulp. This time, you swallow it all down. 

“There’s a bit of sweet,” you say. 

I let you go without another word.

You close my door behind you, but open it again, sign in hand. Tea Shop: Apprentice Wanted.

Aggie lives with her wife by the beach in Australia, where she spends most of her time hiding from the sun and heat. She writes around studying for her pharmacy degree and entertaining her three dogs. She loves all kinds of speculative fiction and often draws inspiration from Slavic folklore and mythology. When not writing she can be found drinking tea and reading everything in sight. Her published works can be found in Hexagon, Flash Fiction Online and more! For the full list see http://aggienovak.com

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!