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.

DESPAIR CANYON

Howling wind tore through the awful sharp pillars of rock clogging Despair Canyon, moaning up at the two men who descended into it—other than the uncaring stars gleaming far above, their only light was the lantern Ray carried.

“Why would she have come this way?” Ray said. “Grace knows better than to have gone this way.” He squeezed his Remington in both hands as he wove through the rocks blocking their path. Protrusions reached for them as they squeezed through. “What was she thinking?”

“Said her pa needed the medicine right away,” William said. “She didn’t have a lotta time left.”

Ray kept his shotgun on the twisted rocks surrounding them. Their shapes bent and wound like captured campfire flames. “You know what they say about this place, right?” William didn’t answer. “Those moans,” Ray said. “The spirits of settlers were butchered here.”

“Jus’ the wind.”

“Maybe.” Ray’s boots crunched the dirt and stones as the men paced through caught-still darkness. “Or maybe the Navajo funneled through this canyon.”

“Keep yer eyes open for Grace. She might’ve fallen and got hurt.”

“And then what will we do?” Ray said. “Carry her out?” He shook his head as they entered a denser segment of rocks. “We’d never get back to her ranch in time.”

William squeezed Ray’s collar. “You listen t’ me,” he snarled. “That little girl is depending on us right now. By God, if you’re too busy being scared to see her, you’re getting a whooping.”

Twisted rocks blocked their way. After ten more minutes—each turn of the lantern throwing up sharp shadows—they found the package of medicine Grace had been carrying.

“Eyes open,” William said. “Look everywhere. We don’t miss her.”

“So many shadows. And these rocks in the way. She could be hiding anywhere!” Ray said. The canyon’s high walls funneled them down into the valley. Rocky protrusions like branches snagged his clothing and caught on his coat. “They’re grabbing me!”

“Keep yer eyes open!” William shouted. He turned to Ray, and a rock snagged his boot. His gun flew from his hand as he toppled. Howling moans roared up at him, and his breath hitched. The light from Ray’s lantern swung wildly, and shadows danced as pillars of rock reached for them.

“William! My legs! Something’s got my legs! I can’t get out, William! It’s hopeless!”

William lifted his eyes. As the lantern swung back and forth and the moans howled, Ray’s feet joined to the ground, becoming rock. The change rose to his knees. “Help me! Help me, William!” Ray screamed, reaching. Rock swept up the rest of Ray’s body, up his torso to the top of his head, and his face was frozen in a rocky scream as the lantern fell to the ground.

It cracked, the light went out, and then there was just the moaning and the uncaring stars far above and the twisted, hopeless path out of the canyon and the thousands of rocks just like Ray.

 

Daniel is a great singer, wholly romantic, and is convinced he’s alive. His work has appeared in over thirty publications, including ‘Havik,’ ‘Defenestration Magazine,’ and ‘Ripples in Space.’ His new ebook ‘Hymnfire’ is available on Amazon. His X account is @Danny_Deisinger, and his website is saturdaystory-Time.weebly.com.

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

ONE NICE NECROMANCER

Of all the dungeons that Sashna had been held in, this was undeniably the coziest. It even had a fireplace. She appreciated the sound of the crackling logs. It almost blocked out the voices.

The man sitting across from her cleared his throat. Sashna perked up. “Sorry, my mind went for a stroll again.”

“Welcome back,” he laughed. “Did you hear my question?”

“About the boy?”

“We’ll come back to that. First, I wanted to know: honey or milk?” The man received a tray from another guard. The teapot, cups, and saucers were all made from polished silver.

“Both, please.”

He gingerly added both, stirred, and handed the steaming cup to her. Sashna caught a whiff. Her eyes widened, and she took a quick sip. Then another, longer one. “This tastes like—”

“Home?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Have you been to the Isles?”

“Sadly, no. But the warden has. He figured eating and drinking like you might help him live as long.”

“I’m afraid immortality doesn’t work like that. Not that you should bother.”

“I’m afraid bothering’s my job,” the man looked down at his cup. “So, about the boy.”

“How is he?”

“Oh, good. Still won’t tell his uncle where the gold is.”

“Nor should he,” she said. “His parents strictly forbade it.”

The man sighed. “Seeing as he’s the boy’s last living relative, we were curious how you know that.”

“I told you already.”

“Say I believe you,” he said. “Why would someone who lives forever want to talk to dead people?”

A draft blew into the room. Sashna pulled her robe up to her chin. “So I could keep in touch with my friends.”

The man finished his cup and stood up. “That doesn’t sound like a necromancer. When I’m done with paperwork, we can think of something to tell my supervisors. See if we can’t get you out of here.”

“Thank you, Roderik.”

He turned around at the door. “Who told you my name?”

“The other inmates,” she smiled.

Roderik stared in disbelief. Then, he turned and walked past rows of empty cells. When his footsteps vanished, the draft returned. It was bitterly cold, enough to freeze the lock at the door. With a final gust, it broke open. Floating through the opening was the spectral outline of a veiled woman.

“Finished with your tea?” the ghost asked.

“Almost,” Sashna said, before taking one final gulp. She joined her liberator, leaving the cup on the saucer. “How long were you there, Cinilith?”

“Long enough,” she said, and Sashna was certain she was smiling behind the veil. “Now let’s go.”

Sashna followed her trail of light, gently closing the door behind her. “When we’re safe, could you send a letter back?”

“For who?”

“My guard.”

Cinilith sighed. “And what should it say?”

“Thank you for the tea,” Sashna said. “Of all the dungeons that I’ve been held in…”

 

Joe Wood is a writer and educator with a passion for both storytelling and reading advocacy. He earned his BA in Creative Writing from Canisius University and is studying School Psychology at SUNY Oswego. His work has appeared in This Exquisite Topology Anthology, and his upcoming book, In the Cold Starlight, will be published by Rogue Planet Press in 2026. 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!