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.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Bastet weaves through the crowd stomping along the streets with ease. Everyone is dressed in thick winter coats and gloves, which she has also donned so she doesn’t stand out. Her puffy coat is a garish yellow with a bright orange scarf to match. They were the only ones she could find on such short notice.

As she attempts to scan the crowd again, her foot catches on a gap in the pavement. She pinwheels her arms before falling flat on her face. A few of the humans give her sympathetic looks as they pass her. She jumps to her feet with a hiss, running her tongue along a tooth that feels like it might be chipped.

She’s not used to a human body.

It’s been years since she had to use her human form and her clumsiness is evident. She had wanted to remain in her feline form, until she realised that there were too many humans. They’re celebrating a holiday called Christmas Eve, where everyone is required to rush about in a loud panic to get ready for Christmas. She doesn’t understand why they don’t just get ready in advance but knows better than to try to make sense of their customs.

A cold gust of wind blows her dark hair in all directions. The scowl on her face deepens and she wishes the human she was looking for would show himself already.

There’s a break in the crowd towards the road, so she darts through it. Her fingers begin to tingle from the freezing temperatures, and she just wants to return to her warm den.

But then she spots him.

A man, leaning against a wall of one of the human shops. His face is covered in sweat and his coat is unzipped as if he’s boiling hot. His skin is almost grey and his breathing is laboured, like his lungs aren’t taking in enough air.

But Bastet knows it’s him from the smell. Although he’s still alive, just, the scent of decay is unmistakable. Her lips press into a fine line as she mulls over her options. She must get him away from the crowd before the infection reaches its peak.

While crossing the road she once more stumbles over her own feet and curses to herself. In the second that she looked away, the man has gone.

Panic rises in her chest as she looks in both directions before spotting him. There are now colourful bags in one of his hands while the other is leading a young girl forward. Bastet’s instincts kick in as the man suddenly stops, clutching his chest. She rushes forward and manages to rip the girl out of his weak grip.

“Hey!” A woman walking just ahead of him whirls around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The man moans and snaps his head to glare at the woman. Before Bastet can react, he lunges forward and sinks his teeth into the woman’s hand.

She’s failed to stop the plague. 

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.

ALWAYS NUMB

I walk the shoreline daily, sandaled-toes sinking in the sand, sea salt spraying my face and the wind twirling my hair.

It’s cold today, and drizzling, but that’s okay. I’m always numb.

While walking, I see a small animal trapped in some washed up seaweed, As I approach, I see a tail flap against the ground, then a little flipper sticks up. A baby seal? I remove the seaweed to free it—the creature looks back at me with a human face. A child of another world.

I wrap it in my shawl and head home. At last, I feel love.

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.

PRISON

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you in person,” the detective said. “But don’t worry… we’ll catch him.” He turned to leave.

Lucy smiled her thanks and closed the door. The detective’s footsteps echoed down the hall.

She approached her bookshelf. Gently she picked up a snow globe and considered the scene within. She shook it violently, then watched the snowflakes drift back down. Again and again she shook it, only stopping when her arm grew tired.

She placed the snow globe back on the shelf, watching the snow slowly settle. Tiny specks of red dotted the inside of the glass.

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.

HER BLOOD IN THE ICE

Deliverance spied the frozen heart-shape in a water-filled rut along the Arkham road, its frosty surface turned partly to ice in the November chill, late in the day, as she returned home from her market stall in the town. Her bundles of herbs and bottles of physick had not sold well, despite the farm families thronging the market. She laid the blame in part on the chill in the air, in part on a binding cast by her rival and former student, Sapphira. Not only had she cut into her livelihood, she had once stolen Deliverance’s lover. But two could play at opposing castings, one playing upon the other, point and counterpoint, spell and counterspell. No doubt this heart-shape had formed in the ice at Sapphira’s bidding, a sign to flout her power and taunt Deliverance’s weakened state.

She still had a snippet of her lover’s red-gold hair, hidden in a box beneath her bed, a token to recall the man and her sentiment for him, and a sample against his betrayal, in case she must return the favour. Returning to her cottage, she found it, taking strands from it which she wrapped twice about the base of her little finger. Venturing back into the cold and the fading day, she found the roadside rut, kneeling over it. Breathing on it once, twice, thrice, she warmed its surface enough to create a slick of water to form upon the icy glaze. Unwinding the hairs, she laid them upon the ice, and called upon the cold breeze to bend her way. The bare branches of the oak shading the road swayed; the breeze brushed her cheek, prickling in the sudden chill. She tapped the pondlet with a bare finger, finding it solid once again, the hairs embedded into the ice. Taking the bone-handled knife from her belt, she turned it handle downward and raising it, whilst murmuring her lover’s name, she brought down the knife handle. Once, twice, thrice, she struck the ice and once, twice, thrice, she spoke his name.

On the third pronouncement, the word on her lips rose to a scream as the ice broke beneath her strike, and a pain shattered her chest. She sank to the frozen earth, her cheek hitting the gravel and frozen mud. She would have laughed if the pain had not taken away her breath, if it had not already dimmed her eyes and slowed her heart. Too late she saw a reddish tinge in the mud beneath the ice. Some blood of hers, tokens to her lover and to her student. She should have expected as much, that the lovely sign also served as a trap. She should have expected her student would use such tricks. Sapphira had learned well, learned enough to entrap her teacher and end their partnership when the teacher had nothing left to give…

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.

FROST FAIRIES

Fairies in the frosted hedgerows, watching for lone travellers, giggle at the pranks they’ve planned.

Here comes one now, a fellow back from the tavern, a little worse for wear.

The fairies puff out handfuls of ice crystals which whirl and dance about the man, entrancing him with a scintillating swirl of light.

Out from the bushes they fly, leering at him, but he cannot see them. The fairies guide him off the lane and deep into the woods, abandoning him lost and alone, hiding in trees to watch him shiver and wander, confused, desperate to find his way home.

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.

MY DARLING

“For you, my darling.” Eighty-year-old Rudy produced a red rose from behind his back.

“It’s beautiful.” His wife Ava sniffed it, eyes glowing.

Her radiant smile warmed him, his heart overflowing. Wanting to bring her more joy, Rudy concentrated on the dirt at their feet.

It moved, a tiny sprout soon rising from the ground. The plant’s stem lengthened, leaves popping out.

As the rose bush grew rapidly, the earth shook. Clumps of soil shifted, more plants emerging.

Soon dozens of bushes surrounded Rudy and Ava.

She gently brushed her fingers across the blooms, tears of happiness in her eyes.

 

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.

TETHERED

He stands in his kitchen, coffee mug in hand. I don’t remember waking up.

Is it a workday? He’s wearing a tie… or is he? Everything is foggy. Distant voices—his wife and son.

He’s outside. The big oak in the front yard. Pushing Tommy on the tire swing. The rope fraying, but he knows it will hold. Is this a memory?

Tommy and the swing disappear.

***

Tom opens the car door, briefcase in hand. He hesitates, one foot inside.

It’s a clear, still day. Yet despite the lack of wind, the tire swing on the old oak is swaying.

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.

GARRETT

“You’re mine forever,” I told Ella after we began dating. “Even if the world ends.”

She said I was super intense and overdramatic, but her eyes sparkled. “Those are some of the things I love about you,” she added, laughing like this was the funniest thing ever.

When I told Ella I wasn’t exaggerating but dead serious, she swore she’d never leave me or be unfaithful.

She slept with another man right after we got engaged, though.

No one will ever find what’s left of Ella. Of her lover, either. Like I told her in the beginning, she was mine.

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.

THE RABBIT LAND

It was a beautiful summer day. Most of the rabbits gathered in the clearing among the woods. They played, chased, some rested in the tall grass. The idyll was in full swing.

Suddenly everything went dark. The bright blue sky was completely covered by gray clouds. All the rabbits stopped playing and looked up. A vortex formed in the air above the center of the clearing, transforming into a black hole. The animals knew what this meant. They’ve seen it happening before. They flattened their long ears with fear in their eyes.

“Ruuuun!” shouted Peter, one of the older rabbits, and all furries ran towards the trees.

Once at the edge of the clearing, Peter turned around to make sure everyone was safe. He noticed a pair of gray ears barely sticking out of the tall grass. He must be fast asleep, that’s why he didn’t hear me, he thought. He looked up. A huge hand emerged from the abyss, reaching for the unaware hare. Peter rushed to the rescue, screaming as loud as he could.

Roger slowly opened his eyes. Drowsy, he tried to figure out where he was. He dreamed someone was screaming. Wait, it wasn’t a dream. Someone is really screaming. He got up and looked around. He saw Peter running towards him. Now awake, he understood what his friend was shouting. He looked up at the same moment a huge hand clamped down on his protruding ears. He felt himself rising above the ground.

Peter was so close. He jumped to catch his friend, but failed because Roger was already in the air.

Roger tried to free himself, but couldn’t reach the fingers that held him so tightly. He watched the clearing receding away.

“Roger! Nooooo!” Helpless Piotr watched in horror as the hand disappeared into the abyss. The portal closed and soon the sun was shining again in the bright blue sky.

The world was almost the same as before this strange phenomenon. Almost.

 

*

 

The magician said the macig words and, with a wide smile on his face, pulled a rabbit out of the hat. The animal seemed scared and confused. Most of the children were impressed, except for one boy.

“Shouldn’t this rabbit be white?”

The magician lost some of his confidence.

“Um, no. The color of the rabbit is always a surprise.”

He looked up at the parents sitting in the back rows.

“By the way, would anyone like to adopt this adorable pet?”

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.

WINTER ROSE

Staraya Ladoga, Soviet Union – Winter 1981

Kseniya wasn’t her daughter by blood, too much time had passed for that, but she was still her child through the bloodline. And she, bound to watch over the family until they scattered to the wind or the last of them died out. The girl might never see her, but such was the fate the spinners had decreed for this world. Shade and shadow would remain unseen by the living. She’d come to be accustomed to it over the years, content to watch as the land and the village she had known in life grew and changed around her. Buildings of timber and wood turning to brick and stone, and later, concrete towers.

She shifted the spear from one hand to the other, heedless of the winter cold or the way the icy wind didn’t touch her hair or the heavy cloak over her shoulders.

Kseniya giggled, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing at her wolf shaped brother as he padded around the powder dusted granite markers. So old now that if there had been names written upon it, they would have faded into nothingness – a thousand years after her death. But nothing had been written so it was nameless, only a few bones and a shield rim to mark where she had been laid. “Her path lies in the Saxon lands.”

She didn’t need to clarify or look up to see her fair-haired companion at her side. Not her brother by adoption – he had long since found his peace in Valhalla – but another restless shadow from a different branch of the tree.

He gave her a wry look, glancing from her to the twelve year old girl playing in the snow. “They call it England these days, Alivia. The kingdoms you knew are united.”

She snorted, brushing his remark off. “A Saxon child would say that, would he not? Scotland would never submit to your English rule, neither would Wales.”

He chuckled slightly, not appearing offended by her answer. “I think they figured it out and managed to keep some of their independence but the worlds we knew are long gone. The girl?”

Kseniya shrieked something in Russian and seized a small rock rather than a snowball, striking it against her brother’s shoulder this time before she took off running for home. Alivia shrugged carefully. “Kin, my daughter’s distantly related child. I am no sorceress but I know she won’t be much longer in Russia.”

A few years at most before entering English lands. “Her loyalty is to be respected, James.”

His name always sounded strange to her, too Christian for her tastes but it was how he’d greeted her in the odd place between Valhalla and the living world.

He winced a little at her answer, glancing away. “So be it. What’s her name?”

Time may have forgotten Fenris’s children in all but Iceland’s convention but she could still name her own family. “It will be Rose, soon enough.”

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

AVAILABLE HERE!