Hawthorn & Ash #86

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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.

GLAMOUR

A pulse of magic swept through the room like a gust of wind, snuffing out the candles on the table and making the herbs sway from the rafters. I felt it like a whisper against my skin—inevitably electric. Chloe shuddered, breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open, silver light flashing through them before fading.
But she wasn’t the same.
Her golden hair darkened, strands bleeding into a luminescent white that shimmered in the dim firelight. It wasn’t gradual—it spread like ink in water, washing away the last pieces of her human disguise.

Stacey Jaine McIntosh is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author who hails from Perth, Western Australia where she resides with her husband and their four children.While her heart has always belonged to writing, she once toyed with being a Cartographer and subsequently holds a Diploma in Spatial Information Services. Since 2011 she has had over one hundred short stories and over fifty poems published.Stacey is also the author of Solstice, The Camelot Series as well as The Eldritch Series, Lost & Absinthe and she is currently working on several other projects simultaneously.When not with her family or writing she enjoys reading, photography, genealogy, history, Arthurian myths and witchcraft.www.staceyjainemcintosh.com

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #85

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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.

DINNER TIME

My fangs graze my lips, hunger roils through my body, reprieve lays before me. Skill in mind, strength in hand, I slice the body swiftly. Steam rises, my hands twitch, I dip them down to the wrist. Velvet red drops glisten, racing down my fingertips.

Don’t play with your food, my mother’s voice reminds me.

I sink my teeth deep into flesh. A soft, inviting laughter, hums through me. The kind that lifts you up, that warms you from within.

I raise my eyes to see the joy across my face, but alas there is no reflection on the mirror.

Jay D. Falcetti 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!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #84

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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.

PARITY OF REVENGE

The orange leaves crunched underfoot as the hunter returned to the woods where he lost his apprentice. It had been six months. A tragedy that had turned over in his mind so many times it had eventually snowballed into obsession.

He stalked beasts. There was no confusion about that. He came into their domain to slay them, not the other way around. Yet, vengeance was in his heart, simmering in the spring, boiling in summer, now steaming in the autumn.

The lad had been there to learn the trade of taking down creatures for food and fur. His inexperience made him vulnerable. Under the hunter’s tutelage, that shortfall was his to guard against. Ultimately, he knew it was himself with whom he was angry, having failed the young man. But he couldn’t hunt himself.

He set up camp and angrily banged rocks together, sparking the curls of wood shavings and strips of bark to burn under his bundle of sticks. The image of that mountain cat lunging at his apprentice, snagging its claw in his neck, and opening a wound that could not be treated before the poor lad bled to death, played over in his mind. It had all happened so fast, but the boy had split its ear with his knife as he tried to fend it off, and the hunter had put an arrow in its snout. He was certain, he would know it on sight.

He physically shook his head to dismiss the memory and his perpetual rage exhausted him into sleep.

 

When he woke, it was still dark, but he could wait no longer. He made a torch from his dying fire and went out looking for the beast. He stalked the woods for hours as the darkness peeled back in layers from the sky. The sun was not far from rising.

By the time he heard movement, it was coming from behind him. He turned and tossed his torch to buy himself time to arm and draw his bow. He launched an arrow and struck the figure moving towards him. He caught it mid-leap, striking with so clean a shot, the beast crashed dead upon the ground.

It was a mountain cat, but there was no cloven ear nor scarring upon its muzzle. It was not the creature he came for. He was a hunter, and he had made a kill. A glimmer of reason asserted itself and he considered just skinning it for its hide and leaving behind the madness that had brought him back to this place.

While he looked down, drawing his knife, he heard movement again, but this time he was knocked down from behind. His knife found the familiar-looking beast’s neck as its claws found his, leaving them to lie on the ground, growling and grunting, having claimed each other as a prize. Together they watched the orange glow of the morning sun for the last time as they each calmed their breaths in acceptance.

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, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over eighty 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.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #83

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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.

 

TAROT ESOTERICA: THE BLACK LAGOON

One of the least-known cards of the Tarot Esoterica, the Black Lagoon represents an emotional morass with no clear way out. Nicknamed the “longest depressive episode” card by some practitioners, its interpretation can be a delicate balancing act, as it indicates the querent is experiencing difficulties, but the engulfing miasma of the Black Lagoon offers no easy escape.

When reversed, the Black Lagoon continues to represent the same swampland, though the writhing vines and kudzu that stretch upward may be even more constrictive than the sucking quagmire.

Skilled practitioners often gloss over this card, hoping the querent will do similarly.

Dawn Vogel has written for children, teens, and adults, spanning genres, places, and time periods. More than 100 of her stories and poems have been published by small and large presses. Her specialties include young protagonists, siblings who bicker but love each other in the end, and things in the water that want you dead. She is a member of SFWA and Codex Writers. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their cats. Visit her at historythatneverwas.com, on BlueSky @historyneverwas, and on Instagram @scarywhitegirl12.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #82

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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.

LAST MAN RUNNING

Erald ran faster than he’d ever run before. His heart was pounding in his chest like some prematurely buried person frantically beating the underside of a coffin lid to be let out.

There was nothing but death in all directions as he jumped over the charred remains of his fellow soldiers. Horses bolted as they tried to escape the remains of burning carts still fastened to them. Supply crates burned and barrels of water boiled while the fabric of the provision tents took flight, singeing into nothing.

With only one survivor running for his life, the battlefield had gone silent, save for the whooping of the great beast’s wings flapping in the air behind him like ship sails in the wind.

The beast inhaled loudly; a sound he’d been educated on in the short-lived battle behind him. He stopped and crouched into a ball on the ground like a hedgehog some child had poked with a stick. The terrible roar of blasted fire unleashed overhead and ahead of him. He felt the heat but was surprised to find himself still alive. When he opened his eyes, there was a long track of flames ahead of him, where he should have been running. The dragon had been a slave to its own momentum and was making a wide turn to correct its miss.

Erald started running again. “What do you want?” he yelled. “You’ve already won.” He began to wonder if the creature had some strict last-man-standing rule concerning battle. Unsatisfied until there was no one left on the other side to contest the victory. “I yield,” he offered, as the red-scaled flying furnace circled around to pursue him again.

His eyes fixed on the edge of the field where the fringe of the nearby forest awaited. Though little more than a great cluster of firewood to the thing chasing him, it would at least be not so open as the terrain beneath his quickly stomping feet.

Another loud inhale had him drop and roll to his side as another fiery trail blazed ahead. This time the creature had to fly high before it could turn around to avoid the tree line. Erald quickly rose again and fled into the cover of woods.

Running between the trees, he felt the ground shake as the beast landed to pursue him on foot. Though young and healthy, he wasn’t convinced his legs or heart could take much more. He needed to find somewhere the beast could not follow. Somewhere to lie low. He spied a ditch, loosely covered in branches and leaves, and curled up within it, covering himself and thanking the gods it wasn’t some trap full of spikes.

He breathed a sigh of relief before the heavy steps of his pursuer stopped nearby. As he groped about the little hiding hole, he noticed a small collection of large eggs, all covered in scales.

“Of all the places to hide…”

At least now he knew why both armies had been incinerated.

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, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over eighty 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.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #81

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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.

WITCH KNIGHT

I wanted to learn magic for my protection. Our teachers insisted there was insufficient time for knights to train in combat and magic. But they told stories of sorcerous knights, so there were ways.

I traded sleep for research. I found tantalizing pacts offering what I sought. The church warned against demonic deals, while telling us angels could fall, becoming demons.

So how bad could it really be?

Some demons begin evil, not as fallen angels. They’re the ones most likely to offer their “protection” to the desperate, aspiring witch knights.

Now I have my protection, but at what cost?

Dawn Vogel has written for children, teens, and adults, spanning genres, places, and time periods. More than 100 of her stories and poems have been published by small and large presses. Her specialties include young protagonists, siblings who bicker but love each other in the end, and things in the water that want you dead. She is a member of SFWA and Codex Writers. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their cats. Visit her at historythatneverwas.com, on BlueSky @historyneverwas, and on Instagram @scarywhitegirl12.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #80

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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 UPLIFTED BANNERMAN

“Ahh… that sweet summer breeze,” Waylan said with a contented smile.

He had been looking out to sea from the clifftop watchtower, watching the waves for marauding ships while the coastal winds violently accosted his hair and tabard. He took in the fresh smell of the salty air, the sound of gulls, and the ruffling of the great banner hanging beneath him on the remote structure’s wall, strapped down by rope to prevent the winds from taking it.

He never really understood the need for such a flag. The guards knew which land they were defending. So, he amused himself into assuming it was there to inform marauders and invaders of which land they were assaulting. A charitable courtesy to be sure.

A strange noise carried on the wind. He looked down and saw something moving across the water, too fast to be a ship. When he heard the noise again, it seemed beastly, making him realise he’d seen a shadow on the water. He looked up to see what had cast it.

“Dragon,” he yelled, before blasting panicked air into his horn.

Men soon charged out onto the grounds below while he quickly unlocked the mounted ballista. Someone would be up soon to help him use it while those who spilled out onto the clifftop grounds would make an attack by longbow.

Ignoring the arrows, deflecting off its natural armour, the red-scaled beast drew close, and with a flash of infernal heat, it unleashed flames upon the roof. Waylan managed to dive out of the way, behind the roof’s bulwark. The fire washed past as the beast circled around and went low.

Whatever was happening down there, the tower shook and unravelling ropes could be heard sliding fast through metal rings. As Waylan made to look over the edge, he was engulfed by the great banner that whipped up and wrapped over him.

Caught in the wind, it pushed him across the tower roof. As he made to reach low and fling it off, it inflated in the wind, puffing out, and lifted him off his feet before he could let go. Suddenly, there was no tower beneath his feet anymore. Gliding backwards and terrified, he saw the assailing beast blast its fiery breath through the tower’s entrance in a sustained burst that made the structure shake.

By the time his feet were close enough to the ground, the tower was beginning to crumble with flames licking out of its windows. Men were on fire, falling off the cliff, or fleeing towards the nearby woods. Realising he could either let go and run or let the wind-catching banner carry him down to the shore below, Waylan followed the gust.

The dragon looked curiously at the man floating down past the precipice, being carried along the coast by the wind. Assuming the creature beyond placation by flattery or begging, he awkwardly addressed the beast by clearing his throat.

“Ahh… that sweet summer breeze,” Waylan said, attempting a contented smile.

 

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, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over eighty 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. 

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #79

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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.

SUNSET SMILES

The day was gelid like all the wintry ones up there and a persistent fog fell upon the streets, a plumbeous blanket the wind in vain tried to sweep away. The  restaurants and cafes’ wick of smoke supplied a breath of warmth to the derelicts like Gary that staggered along the sidewalks night and day, refusing help from the charity centers. Despite his old age, he wanted to be free even in misery, too heavy the burden on his shoulders, too many the sins to confess.

The fellow was resigned to his doom; bankruptcy and decay were the righteous punishment to expiate among the cardboards of despair.

The process of aging had been quick, mercilessly ongoing; he watched the spoilt, arrogant gentleman flash by as if somebody else. Identification was easier with the middle-aged bloke already marked by poverty and vice and even more with the decrepit wretch, each year more bent and saddened.

Gary headed towards the town’s main square where his similar would sit on the cold benches, their lonely hearts watching time pass by on the enormous clock placed on one of the buildings; the temperature is always extreme, whether high or low.

Rest was the only thing they could afford, a lonely, silent repose that anticipated the final one.

 

That day, despair was hitting harder than usual. The beggar resolved to walk over to the river.

He loved its glittering whiteness, an alluring smoothness where sufferings were left out. The other bank looked like the promised land waiting for him.

While gazing at the shiny surface, he caught sight of a little boy and girl, huddled up in their bright coats, merrily throwing snowballs at each other. Their laughter, their innocent joy filled him with a long forgotten tenderness…

Rumors of  having a granddaughter had reached him once… Inexplicably, the thought made him shiver and his eyes reddened… Where was she? What was her name?

 The night he left his daughter and the most caring of wives flashed to his mind; their anguished cries blasted his heart… How could he have been so cruel?

An unfamiliar turmoil seized him, an unusual blend of sorrow, guilt and regret that quickly turned into a sharp pain.

In that moment, he would have given the rest of his life just to see the child and take her in his arms. Nothing appeared more important or purposeful than finding her.

Would he also find redemption along the journey? Repentance was already making its way through…

The resolution made him feel lighthearted, strong, as though his aging had halted to give him the time to reconcile with himself and with everyone he had wronged.

He looked up at the sky grateful for the unexpected, precious gift.

The sun was dying peacefully, leaving the horizon to the moon, still wan and timid, yet anxious to shed its benevolent beams.

With a feeble but determinate smile, Gary set forth on his quest.

 

Olivia Arieti lives in Torre del Lago Puccini, Italy, with her family. She writes drama, poetry and fiction. Her stories have appeared in several magazines and anthologies including, Enchanted Conversations, Enchanted Tales Literary Magazine, Fantasia Divinity Magazine, Forgotten Tomb Press, Horrified Press, Infective Ink, Pandemonium Press, Sirens Call Publications, Blood Song Books, Black Hare Press, Pussy Magic Magazine, Stormy Island Publishing, Breaking Rules Publishing, Scarlet Leaf Review, Iron Faerie Publishing, Dark Dossier Magazine, Paramour Ink Press, Black Ink Fiction, Raven and Drake Publishing, The Chamber Magazine, Sweety Cat Press, Gravestone Press, The World Of Myth Magazine.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #78

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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 GRAVEYARD

The graveyard was choked with weeds, glitching Greg’s camera with bursts of static. Something scurried in the underbrush, but nothing was visible.

“It’s a mess,” he said. “Shoulda brought a weed whacker.”

Melody shook her head. “Buncha cowards.” She crouched, sighting across the weeds for the few tombstones poking above them, until she picked out the tallest. “There.”

And then she was gone, whisked into the weeds by the scurrying things, whatever they were.

The rest didn’t stick around to find out.

They just found bones deposited on their porches until all of Melody’s skeleton was reunited with her erstwhile friends.

Dawn Vogel has written for children, teens, and adults, spanning genres, places, and time periods. More than 100 of her stories and poems have been published by small and large presses. Her specialties include young protagonists, siblings who bicker but love each other in the end, and things in the water that want you dead. She is a member of SFWA and Codex Writers. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their cats. Visit her at historythatneverwas.com, on BlueSky @historyneverwas, and on Instagram @scarywhitegirl12.

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

AVAILABLE HERE!