Tag: very short story

Three Sentence Stories (Part 12)

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I thought I had been a good person throughout my life, if a little misguided at times. As I closed my tired eyes, I hoped I was good enough to be reunited with my family in heaven. Instead I found myself standing inside a pentagram surrounded by a group of very nervous cultists.

Have you ever heard someone say something that you know is wrong, but so confidently that it gives you pause? I have. Unfortunately that phrase was “it definitely isn’t loaded”.

It was the offer of a lifetime: a reality show that could clean years of dirt and clutter out of our home for free. They even swapped our house keys for a hotel card so we could spend a week decompressing before the “grand reveal”. While the show turned out to be fake, I must say that the Crime Scene cleaners did a decent job.

Four Sentence Stories (Part 4)

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All of the windows and doors were gone when he awoke, finding that the walls now continued uninterrupted in their place. He tried to scream for help, but was horrified to find that his mouth was gone, the lower half of his face now smooth, continuous flesh. He tried to quell his panic by closing his eyes and counting to ten.

On the eleventh second of darkness, he realised his mistake.

The intruder alarm blared as the couple raced to their panic room.

Sealing the door, one turned on a screen to see a masked man at the front door, who now ceased prying at the door and waved cheerily at the camera. The other tried to call the police on the landline, but was horrified to not hear a dial tone.

Neither noticed the cupboard door slowly opening as man in an identical mask slowly emerged.

Two Sentence Stories (Part 5)

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I have spent months in this ship, drilling towards the centre of the earth in absolute isolation. I tried to ignore the screaming and the banging on the sides at first, but now I can hear my father whispering how he really died.

I had heard the saying that if you love sausage you should never find out what it’s made of, and that is very true for the new butcher shop in town. However what disturbs me more than finding out what the ingredient is, is just how happy I am to keep eating there, particularly with an employee discount.

As I stand frozen, I can hear growling and the pacing of monstrous claws on the other side of my front door. I was so sure I’d remembered to lock it this morning, after I’d kissed my children goodbye and promised them I’d be back once I’d gathered enough food.

Two Sentence Stories (Part 4)

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I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life, but as I walk around the city after three days of consciousness, I note that no one has woken up in all that time. I shake my head and try to stay awake a little longer, pausing to draw moustache on another prone figure.

All food tastes like charcoal, all sounds fall flat, all sights burn my eyes and and every part of me hurts. Still, on balance it was definitely worth telling that wizard his robes made him look like he just came from a bathtub rave.

As I reached between the old packets and jars, I saw a pair of eyes staring back at me from the back of the fridge, and  felt a hand reaching for mine. I closed the door and reminded myself that this is exactly why I don’t clean the fridge.

 

I’m very, very tired and I wanted something a bit more light-hearted for a change

Two Sentence Stories (Part 3)

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There is definitely someone behind me, but whenever I look back I only see my shadow. It would be reassuring, but my shadow just keeps facing me.

My husband says that he’s sorry, that he loves me and that he’ll never hurt me again. I’d like to believe him and let him out, but it took so long to brick him up inside the wall, and I’m really proud of the patching I did.

I served the food in silence, and it was only when I placed the sixth plate that I realised I had plated one too many and nervous laughter erupted from the guests, soon replaced by hysterical tears and sobbing. How hilarious, serving Frank’s empty place after all he’d sacrificed to ensure we had this meal.

 

Three Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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I sit perfectly still on my bed, cradling my infant son. It’s just me and him in this house, since his mother passed. From the baby monitor on my night-stand I hear a familiar woman’s voice, weeping and calling for her son, and I hear the floorboards creak in the hallway outside my door.

Everyone stopped talking three days ago. One morning I awoke from a dream of horribly twisted creatures hissing truths and, half dazed as I walked outside, I could see in my neighbours’ eyes that he had seen the same. It is a terrible secret we all bear now, and no one is willing to be the first to break the silence, to acknowledge it and to live in the world where we know that God has no love for us.

The walls in my house are moving in my sleep. Every time I wake up it takes me a little longer to figure out how to leave, and every time I fall asleep I awake in my bed again, wherever it has been put. It’s been days now, and I am tired beyond belief but I am sure I’ll find the front door soon, before the walls close in.

 

Two Sentence Stories (part 2)

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The knocking was louder now, more insistent and accompanied by a friendly voice asking to be let in. I silently push another chair in front of the basement door.

After he put the fresh battery in, the first thing Harry noticed was that the stopwatch was going backwards, counting down from some random number. Disgusted at his foolish purchase he threw it into the bin, not noticing that the numbers counted down faster as he angrily took a drag of his cigarette.

“Help me, Mum. I don’t know where I am but it’s really dark and cold. Can you come get me? I’m scared”. Marsha was so tired, after being rudely awoken at 3am by the phone ringing, that she didn’t realise that the battery had died hours ago and, as she later found out, so had Lily.

Three Sentence Stories

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I know without a doubt that the person who stares back at me from the mirror is not my reflection. No matter how terrifying this idea, however, I hope she comes back soon. I can’t  move unless she’s here.

After a year I opened the hatch to the bomb shelter and looked outside for a moment before weeping, then ducking back inside and bolting it closed for another year. I turned to my family and, still weeping, told them that it wasn’t safe to go outside yet. I think the tears really sold it for me.

I lie awake, too terrified to move. I can hear my husband’s snoring from behind me, and I have the scars to remind me of how violent he can be if disturbed. Most of the marks are faded now, so many months after he died from the poison I put in his coffee.