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Latest Stories

September 27, 2025
Flash Fiction Syed Hassan Askari

Half an Hour to Fourteen

Last night she lay on her bed with a curly-haired doll close to her chest. She was looking at the clock hanging over the door. Only half an hour was left —her life’s digit would turn from thirteen to fourteen, a change that felt like a heavy blow to the…
September 27, 2025
Romance Stories Nelly Shulman

Till We Meet Again

“Would you like more coffee?”The server in the orange apron lowered the pot, but Cath muttered, “No, thank you.”Her voice trembled, and the server busied herself with the next table. Outside the window, fog enveloped Waterloo Bridge. The morning was quiet,…
September 23, 2025
Flash Fiction Leroy B. Vaughn

Another Farewell To Arms Reunion

We were sitting in a little café in Wickenburg Arizona eating lunch when my wife looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you’re actually going to this reunion after you told all of your buddies that there was not a chance in hell that you would go.” “I know…
September 23, 2025
General Stories William Kitcher

A Political Solution

The Rt. Honorable Leader/Head of Council/First Governor/Chief Minister/Premier/President/Chancellor/First Minister/Party Secretary-General entered his office, and looked out the open window. It was a beautiful sunny cool day, and the cherry blossoms shone in…
September 23, 2025
Fantasy Stories M.D. Smith IV

Boat Of The Dead

A double-edged knife thrown at my head by a drunk in a tavern where we tried to restore order, sliced my ear, and stuck in the wall behind me. A near miss. We took them all to the dungeon. I’d had my fill of this kind of work. Still a young man in 1111, a…
September 23, 2025
General Stories Jo Gatenby

Better Safe Than Sorry

After watching his parents’ marriage slowly implode, Matthew decided love was not for him. Theirs had lasted long enough to ensure his birth, but thereafter it seemed to diminish in direct proportion to the number of years they spent together. The frown…
September 23, 2025
Flash Fiction K. Imdad

Abbey And The Resistance

The year is 2088 Following the catastrophic world war that left humanity on the brink of extinction, the last remnants of humanity rebuilt, survivors established communities amidst the devastated terrain. The city lies in ruins towering skyscrapers now…
September 23, 2025
Horror Stories Brittany Anne Szekely

The Stuff Of Nightmares

When she woke up there were seventeen voice messages from a stranger. The first was breathing. Wet, laboured, like someone trying to inhale through a mouthful of blood. The second was a whisper: You left the window open. By the fifth, her hands were shaking.…
September 23, 2025
Poetry Markus J

More Than A Soft Toy

There once was a child from Adelaide, who had a teddy called Marmalade. taking each other by the hand, they roamed imaginations land: there, they never turned scared or afraid. this world they only had each other, no mother, father or big brother. on a tandem…
September 10, 2025
Horror Stories Brittany Anne Szekely

The Taste Of Long Pig

The wardrobe was small, but it smelled like cedar and old coats, and that made it okay. Mum had lined the bottom with a blanket and tucked my stuffed bear beside me. She called it quiet time, and sometimes it lasted until the moon came out. “ Be good, my…
September 10, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

The Red Oak

An oak tree is an oak tree. That is all it has to do.If an oak tree is less than an oak tree, then we are all in trouble.Nhat Hanh A majestic red oak (Quercus rubra) stood alone atop a hillock. It was almost a hundred feet tall and had a trunk four feet in…
September 10, 2025
Flash Fiction Brittany Anne Szekely

Some Women Are Made Of Neon Bones

The house had been abandoned for years, but it stood like it remembered being loved. The walls were cracked, its windows shattered, and the front porch sagged like it had been holding its breath too long, but beneath the decay something pulsed, like neon…

Derick Deaver was by definition an old man. The last door on the top floor of Canterbury Heights had been his home for the past sixty years. A simple man really. At 5 am he use to take Frederick the Fourth for a walk around the block. The French bulldog was the fourth purebred in a line of dignitaries, a brown hound of immense size. Frederick was also the only animal allowed in the building, simply because Derick Deaver was the caretaker at the time.

Upon their return home, he would prepare his Oatmeal and Frederick’s Pedigree was dished out. After doing his morning rounds, which included badgering tenants about an unfamiliar scratch on their front door or about some noise that was ‘clearly’ disturbing everyone, he would settle in his living room.

On one particular afternoon Derick read the paper while taking subtle puffs from his pipe with Frederick snoring at his feet. Before long, a familiar rap at the door followed. It never pleased Derick to hear it. To him it always sounded more like a goblin trying to ram its way in.

“Derick! For God’s sake, open this door!” an extremely hoarse and broken voice bellowed from the front door.

Frederick barked once and that’s all it took to make Derick’s eyes flare open. A hard grimace erupted on his face. Gripping the leather arms of the chair, he scolded throatily, “I’m coming. You old fool!”

The walk to the front door was in no way rushed. In fact, he took a leak in the toilet and washed his hands before heading to the door. The knocking had already subsided by then, but he knew he was still there. The same kind of faith he had in knowing that his toilet roll would be there when he had to go take a dump.

As Derick swung open the door Mr Burrows sneered profusely, leaning on his walking stick, “My toilet is blocked,” he said curtly. The man smelled like diarrhoea. Wrinkles lined his face like creased tinfoil and two tufts of grey hair grew behind his ears.

“Do I look like a fucking plumber?” Derick said indignantly.

“I don’t care Derick, but the shit is really surging up.”

Derick stared at Burrows as if he was some turd that doesn’t seem to want to flush down. “Call     the plumber!” He said, and started closing the door.

Burrows was already out of breath, “The number is not wor ...”

“Get a phonebook you retard, “Derick interrupted hoarsely before closing the door in his face.When Derick turned around, Frederick was sitting in the hall with his tongue halfway to the floor, looking up at his master with approval.

As soon as they found themselves settled, there came a completely unfamiliar rap at the door. A monotonous knock that was somewhat unnerving. Frederick was still sleeping. Derick ignored it for a time in the hope that the unwelcome guest might leave, but the knocking continued nonetheless.

With much indecision, the old man got up and noticed that Frederick was still snoring. He leered at the hound, before ambling off to the door.

“Yeah? “ Derick growled. When he peered through the peephole, his eyes widened. An extremely pale and hairless man stood before the door. His eyes were dark brown and diluted.

“Mr Deaver.” A cold voice replied.

With more effort than usual, Derick opened the door, and when he did, he was unsure why he did it. The man was wearing a tuxedo with a blood-red tie, and his equally pale hands were folded in front of him.

Mr Deaver was about to open his mouth, but the strange man bared a row of friendly teeth. His eyes remained impassive. “I apologise for being late. It is an awful busy time of the year.”

“I’m afraid you have the wrong door young man,” Derick said firmly. The man seemed young, but also infinitely old. It was a rather frightening sight but there was only one thing Derick feared, and that was running out of coffee.

“Oh, but I’m afraid you are mistaken Derick. Please pour us some coffee. My throat is parched.” The man entered uninvited through the door. Derick was almost oblivious to the insolence. “Make it black, if you please.”

“Right,” Derick said, struggling to recall if he had asked the man in or not. The stranger walked through the house and took a seat at the dining table. Derick could not decide if he was more perplexed or more offended. He felt a strange inclination to let the man in, regardless.

Soon enough, Derick found himself sitting at the table with the stranger. They had both taken a sip of coffee, before Derick spoke. “What is your name son, and what business has led you to my door?”

The stranger grinned kindly. “They call me many things, but please, call me Grim.”

“Mr ... Grim.” Derick tried to get up from his chair. “Please. If there is nothing else ...” The chair would not let go. His legs were paralysed. Gaining more confidence that this was all some ludicrous joke, he leered at the stranger, but he choked on his words. The chords in his neck bulged and tears started forming in his blue eyes.

“Oh, of course there is, Mr Deaver.” They stared at each other for a brief moment. Grim spread his hands. “There is a situation, and you see, there is no better way of saying this. We want you to die.”

Derick grimaced. “I do not take kindly to threats.”

“Oh, we don’t threaten. There are certain rules, however,” Grim said peevishly. “You see, the irony is unfathomable. We cannot take a soul without consent. Usually a person just dies and that is enough. This has always kept business booming.”

“You won’t find any souls here,” Derick said defiantly.

“Oh but I’m not asking, Mr Deaver. You see, fairness has always been one of our finest qualities.”

“You call this fair?” said Derick, evidently referring to his ‘sudden’ paralysis.

“Only a precaution I assure you.”

“What game are you playing at?”

“Ah yes. Now we come to the crux of the matter. It is really simple.” Grim leaned closer. “I ask a riddle, and if you can give me the solution, you are free to be old and creaky for a little while longer.”

“What makes you think I want to play this game?” Derick retorted.

“Human nature will play its part I guess.” Grim waved a hand. A dark vortex opened up in the ceiling and the room suddenly became darker. Derick stared up. The little grey hair he owned fluttered wildly. Suddenly an enormous book, bound in black leather descended from the ceiling through the vortex. As soon as it touched the table, it gaped open before Grim. Derick tried to make out the lettering, but it was incomprehensible.
“Now, let’s take a look. Section thirty-two of the Incontestable Act, states that, ‘The keeper of a soul, shall not deny the Dark Lord a chance to win over a soul in a fair game of his Lord’s choice.’” Grim said.

A glimmer of realisation started to show on Derick’s face. “What makes you think I want what your offer?”

“I offer you life Mr Deaver.”

“Look, I only want one thing.” Derick yawned, after which his face went hard. “I want to be young again. I want women by the dozen. Give this to me and I’ll hear your riddle.”

“Well … fine, so be it. You may have this boon! Now let me think.” Grim rolled his eyes in thought. There was a long silence during which Derick started snoring. 
“Ah!” Grim exclaimed, shaking Derick out of his doze.

“You now, they say it’s bad luck to wake up an old man,” Derick croaked.

“And luck is exactly what you’ll need Mr Deaver.”

“Speak your riddle and be done with it then!”

There was a brief silence before Grim started. “It breathes but makes no sound. It burns in the sun and dries out in the cold. What is it called?”

Derick laughed, but it sounded more like choking. “You aren’t very good at this I presume. The answer is … skin.”

After what appeared to be a moment of deep thought, Grim seemed rather disappointed, but he smiled nonetheless. “I’m afraid ... you are correct.” Suddenly the room lit up with daylight and all darkness dissipated. The paralysis wore off and Derick felt the strength return to his legs. Grim stood up and straightened out his jacket. “It’s been a pleasure Mr Deaver, but I’m afraid I have business elsewhere.” Before he left the dining room and disappeared around the corner, he turned. “Take care, Mr Deaver. It is a frightfully dangerous world.”

Derick only half listened, giving more mind to wiggling his toes, just to check if they worked properly. He got out of his chair, his legs quite stiff, but otherwise fine. In fact, he had never felt better. When he peered around the corner, the stranger was gone. After downing a glass of cold water from the kitchen, he leaned against the wall and exhaled.

At that moment, Frederick started to bark. “Be quiet!” Mr Deaver scowled. Then Derick understood. His hands felt stronger and his back was no longer bent. He felt his face and felt the wrinkles even out.

The day had wore on quite well, but before the sun set, there was a cry so loud it sent many people to Deaver’s door. When at last they had called with no answer, they knocked down the door. Nothing could prepare them for what they would find, a handsome little baby in the hall with piercing, pond-blue eyes. He made all the women smile.

 

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