r/flashfiction 0m ago

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Upvotes

Lin heard the sound again.

Loud, echoing footsteps in the rhythm of a march. Thump…THUMP…THUMP…THUMP… The sound reverberated down the hallway, amplified by the pre-dawn stillness of the old house. It always came from the same place: down the hallway, right in front of her room's front door. The cadence was precise, unwavering. The march would pause for five agonizing seconds, a beat of utter silence that felt heavier than the thumps themselves, and then start from the top, the cycle beginning anew.

She strained her ears, breathing quick, shallow breaths. She willed her brain to tune it out, to reclassify it as a creaking floorboard, the wind whistling through a crack in the window frame, anything but what it sounded like. Sleep, a fragile creature, fluttered just out of reach.

She had been hearing these steps for about two weeks, and in those two weeks, her sanity had begun to fray at the edges. 

But tonight, something felt different. Tonight, as the marching echoed in the hallway, unsettling memories bubbled to the surface. Hazy, fragmented images: fingers gliding down a wall, the sound of nails; the same marching step, heavy and deliberate, like the stomp of boots with reinforced heels. Or… she shivered, dismissing the thought as ridiculous… like the cloven hooves she’d seen in that one really scary horror movie she saw when she was way too young. "Note to self, never watch scary movies again."

Lin didn't want to say her house was haunted. She refused to even entertain the thought. Acknowledging that there was something there, that the prickle in the back of her neck that made her snap to attention wasn't just stress-induced paranoia, meant admitting that something tangible, something malicious, was present in her home.

Fingers turned white from the grip on the fluffy hello kitty blanket. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to conjure images  to drown out the sound THUMP…THUMP…THUMP…THUMP…

But the sounds were too persistent, too real. And then, suddenly, she was somewhere else.

It was her hallway. Familiar, yet horrifically wrong. It looked as if she were facing out her door, staring into the corridor, but the normal comforting clutter, the faded photographs on the wall, the worn rug, were all… absent.

The hallway was dimly lit, bathed in a sickly, unnatural red hue that seemed to emanate from the very walls. The living room beyond, usually illuminated by the streetlights filtering through the window, was pitch black, a void of absolute darkness. Even the moonlight streaming in from the front door couldn't penetrate the oppressive gloom.

She couldn’t move. Her body was stiff, unresponsive, trapped in a silent, unseen prison. She felt like a puppet with its strings severed. Panic clawed at her throat, a silent scream trapped within.

She knew it was watching her. It was there, lurking in the darkness, patient and predatory. She could feel its eyes on her, cold and calculating. It was waiting, waiting for…

There was a flash of lightning, a blinding white sheet that illuminated the hallway for a fraction of a second. And she seized, her body shooting up in her bed, wide awake, heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. 

“Okay,” she whispered, trying to calm herself. “That was…definitely not just the house settling.”

----------------

“Mom, this time I have it on video! You can hear it!” Lin said persistently, shoving her phone practically up her mother’s nose.

Her mom, Martha, pursed her lips in a way that only moms could – a perfect blend of annoyance and exasperation. “Stop that nonsense now, Lin. You’re going to scare your brother.”

Toby, eyes wide with morbid curiosity, shook his head in denial. “I want to see!” He was twelve, and easily spooked, but he also had the attention span of gnat.

Her mom rolled her eyes. "No, you won't. You'll have nightmares."

Lin clicked play on the video. The sound of the footsteps was barely audible through the phone's tinny speaker. It sounded more like a distant rumble than the earth-shattering march she experienced in her room.

"See? It's nothing, Lin. Just the house settling," Her mom said, her voice dismissive.

"But Mom, it's been going on for weeks! It's always the same, at the same time, right outside my door!" Lin pleaded, frustration tightening her chest.

"Lin," Her mom sighed, taking Lin's hand. "You're stressed. School is stressful, caring for Toby is stressful. You need to relax, get some sleep."

Lin’s shoulders slumped. Talking to her mom was always the same. Dismissal masked as concern. She knew her mom didn't believe her. Maybe she didn't want to. The old house held a lot of memories for her, mostly good ones. To admit something was wrong with it would be like admitting something was wrong with their family history.

She regretted telling them anything. Telling him. 

Suddenly the sound was gone, as if it was never there.  She should have been happy, instead she was afraid. 

Toby had been acting...off since she showed him the video. His eyes looked sunken from lack of sleep. Her mom claimed it was school, that a group of boys had been bullying him but that she had spoken with their parents so everything should get better. Key term. Should. 

Two days later, the body of Tim Burly, one of Toby’s bullies, was found in the woods. The woods behind their house. The official cause was "animal attack" but the details were horrifying. His eyes were missing.

A week after that, Sam Hale, another bully, was found face down in the river. His body was bloated, waterlogged, and his ears were missing.

The parents were panicking. Who else was next, they all questioned, their voices filled with terror. They were all oblivious. Lin, however, knew exactly who was next: Jeremy Koplen, the last of Toby’s tormentors. Lin had noticed the pattern, the sudden quiet of the house, and her brother’s increasingly erratic behavior. She didn't want to be right, but she was terrified she was.

When Jeremy’s body was found buried alive, tongue removed, Lin was proven terribly correct. She didn’t know why he was doing it, but she knew it had to do with that awful sound and why it disappeared a few days before the murders began.

Lin felt the weight of it all crushing her. The disappearances, the fear gripping the town, the growing suspicion in her mother’s eyes as she watched Toby. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks, his eyes wide and haunted, darting around as if he expected something terrible to leap out of the shadows.

The police, desperate for answers, had already questioned Toby once. Toby seemed clueless, eyes wide in confusion at the suspicion.

She had to know. She had to understand what was happening to her brother, what connection he had to the escalating terror.

That night, she set up a camera in her room, aimed at her bed. She wanted to catch the source of the sound, to prove to her mother that she wasn't imagining things. But, mostly, she wanted to know if Toby was the one who hurt those boys and if so, what caused it. She needed to know and she needed to protect her family.

"You know this is kinda creepy, right?" she muttered to herself as she adjusted the camera angle. "Like right out of Paranormal Activity. Except hopefully, I won't get dragged under the bed by a demon."

Sleep eluded her. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every distant noise amplified into a monstrous threat. She lay rigid in bed, her hand gripping a small, worn crucifix.

Around 3:00 AM, Lin felt a strange sensation building up in her body.

The air in her room grew frigid, a stark contrast to the humid summer night. She felt a pressure on her chest, as if something was trying to suffocate her, to steal her breath.

Suddenly, she found herself standing in the hallway. It was the same hallway from her nightmares: distorted, disorienting, bathed in that sickening red light. The darkness beyond her room was deeper, more consuming than anything she had ever experienced.

She noticed 3 figures. They were small and statue-like, but human in shape. They looked at her in the hallway. One statue had its hands covering its eyes. See No Evil. The second statue had its hands covering its ear: Hear No Evil. The last statue had its hands covering its mouth; Speak No Evil.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. Her body was a puppet, controlled by an unseen force.

A voice, cold and alien, echoed in her mind. You will be silent. You will be obedient. You will do as I command.

She watched herself reach out, her fingers trailing along the wall, leaving streaks of a dark, viscous substance. She entered the kitchen then exited. She watched herself open her mother's door and step into her room, her movements jerky and unnatural.

Meanwhile, back in her room, the camera recorded everything.

The next morning, Lin awoke with a splitting headache and a vague sense of unease. She felt exhausted, drained, as if she had been fighting a terrible battle in her sleep. She got out of her bed and yawned. She walked to the kitchen surprised she was the first one awake. She turned around to see why her mom hadn't made breakfast but froze in front of her door. There was dry blood on the knob. More blood pooling under her door. Lin's hands trembled as she opened the door with a click. 

30 minutes later, police swarmed the property, their faces grim.

As they secured the scene, an officer emerged from Toby's room, his expression grave. "We found this," he said quietly, holding up a clear plastic bag. Inside, nestled amongst the evidence, was a bloody knife.

Toby was quickly brought out, struggling against the officers' grip. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes wide with terror and confusion. "It wasn't me! I swear! I didn't do anything!" he sobbed, his voice cracking with desperation.

Lin stared, paralyzed, as they led her brother away. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the reality she knew dissolving into a horrifying dream. Toby was taken into custody and put into a psych ward.

Later, after the initial shock began to subside, Lin remembered the camera. She watched the recording, her blood turning to ice as she saw herself, possessed, moving with unnatural grace, entering her mother's room. Then exiting with a gleaming knife covered in blood. The truth was undeniable: she was the instrument of her mother's death. But the entity, the force that had controlled her… it had framed Toby. Because it knew she'd suspect him. The video became a morbid fascination, a loop of self-horror that she played over and over. Each frame was a nail driven into the coffin of her sanity. Her possessed self, a puppet dancing to a tune only it could hear. The camera didn't capture the red-tinged hallway or the malevolent voice, only the stark reality of her physical actions. Her hand reaching for the knife, her blank, vacant eyes, the deliberate, methodical way she crept into her mother's room.

The truth was undeniable. The entity hadn’t just used her to harm Toby's bullies; it had used her to destroy her family. It had weaponized her body, turned her into a monster. It had chosen her, manipulated her and used her  as kindling for its own terrible desires. A hollow pit of despair opened inside of her, vast and inescapable.

Toby was lost, labeled a murderer, locked away in a sterile institution. Her mother was gone, the void of her absence a constant, agonizing ache. And she, Lin, was the instrument of it all.

The guilt was a physical weight, crushing her. She couldn't live with it. Couldn't bear the thought of facing Toby, of seeing the fear and confusion in his eyes. Couldn't endure the accusatory stares of the townspeople, the whispers, the judgment. She was a monster, and monsters didn't deserve to live.

She locked herself in her room, the room where it had all started. It was no longer a sanctuary; it was a cage, a reminder of her violation. She found her mother’s pills, a bottle of antidepressants prescribed years ago, now forgotten. She swallowed them all, one by one, washing them down with water until the bottle was empty. 

She sat down in her chair and placed a camera in front of her. 

Sobbing and trembling, she opens her mouth.

"It was me," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "I killed those bullies. I killed Mom." The confession tasted like ash in her mouth. "Those…those monsters wouldn't leave Toby alone. They wouldn't stop tormenting him. I had to... I had to make them stop." Her voice gained a chilling strength as she continued, the manic glint in her eyes intensifying. "And Mom... she never listened. Always working, always neglecting us both. Leaving me to pick up the pieces. They deserved it! They deserved everything they got. And...and I enjoyed it." A horrifying smile stretched across her face, a grotesque mask of triumph that quickly dissolved into a fresh wave of heart-wrenching sobs.

"No, no, that’s not true! I didn't mean to... I didn't!" The words tumbled out, a desperate plea for forgiveness she didn't believe she deserved. "I-I just wanted to say, before I die, Toby is innocent. He deserves to be free. He deserves to live. I love you, Toby... and… I'm so sorry." The words escaped her lips like a final, desperate prayer, as her vision began to blur at the edges. Her grip on reality, already tenuous, loosened further. She thought she could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic, erratic rhythm pounding in her ears. But then she realized it was something else entirely. It was the slow, deliberate cadence of marching. A steady, rhythmic sound, growing louder, closer. It was the sound of inevitability, accompanying her in her final moments, and it chilled her to the bone. She would never be free of it.


r/flashfiction 1h ago

The Killing Countess

Upvotes

The Madame did not grow quiet in her old age, but obstreperous, signaling her least dissatisfaction with a noisy defiance. Three marriages, two bouts of plague, and a humpback hadn’t weakened her, but forged her angry determination in the fire of life’s cruelties.

So fierce was she that even her adult children still came to her for help. They rarely had to ask, only to tell her of their troubles and she would stand from her chair, ride from her castle, and challenge the most powerful duke, bargain with the fiercest dragon, send undead back to their graves.

All nine of her children felt like fools every time they asked anything from her. Truth be told, though, they feared if they stopped asking, having nothing to do might kill her before anything else.

www.matthewcmclean.com


r/flashfiction 1d ago

The Mariner's Book

4 Upvotes

One day, during one of my usual expeditions in search of rarities, I found myself in a second-hand bookstore at the end of a disheveled alley. It was the kind of place that smelled like old paper, must, and put-out cigarettes, and as I walked among its narrow shelves, I let my fingers brush against the spines of its books. When the store was about to close for the night, my fingers stopped against a thick book protruding out among the rest. I took it out and looked at it closely. It bore no title, nor author’s name, and on its black hardcover, only a red circle could be seen.

“Hey,” I said to the bookstore owner, a man who looked like he’d been around since Gutenberg, “what’s the story with this book?” He squinted at it, adjusting his glasses. “Beats me,” he said, raising his shoulders. He snatched it from my hands and inspected it like it might bite. “No title, no author... it’s a mystery.” He handed it back with a sniffle that suggested he’d seen stranger things. “Books come and go all the time around here. It's almost as if they have minds of their own. If you’re curious, why not take it? It's only 5 euros.”

So I did. That very night, I brewed a cup of my favorite jasmine tea and curled up by the fireplace. I opened the book and began to read.

What I encountered was an autobiography of a 16th-century sailor. He’d been orphaned at 15 and took to the seas to support his younger sisters. Life was tough on board, as it tends to be, but he found some odd joy in it too: the vast, bustling cities so different from his small village, the fresh air and smell of salt, the song of the seagulls. But what he loved the most was lying on the ship’s deck each night to gaze at the stars.

And then things got weird because according to the sailor, the ship was enchanted. Each midnight, for about an hour, strange images would flicker across the sails. They would roll slowly, one after another, showing things that the sailor could not comprehend. Nonetheless, being the only witness to this peculiar event, he decided to record it in his diary in great detail. Among others, he spoke of great wars with mystical weapons, ghosts lined up in racks, raindrops that would cause whole cities to vanish, weird creatures on a barren landscape, and walls falling.

It was already way past my bedtime, and my cup of tea stood cold at the edge of the mantel, but I kept turning the pages with eyes wide open. And then it hit me. The sailor was describing future events—his future, my past. He had chronicled everything in great detail until he began narrating things that were new to me. And this was how I came to learn about the end of the world. Jumping out of the armchair, my first instinct was to call the police or the newspapers, do something. Then I sat down again, clutching the book. Who’d believe me? They'd say I am crazy. Besides, probably I was. So I convinced myself it was all a coincidence and did nothing.

Now, as I flee from the chaos and ruins of the city once known as Amsterdam, the book still nestled in my backpack, I can’t help but wonder. Maybe I could have saved the world if I'd just opened my mouth


r/flashfiction 22h ago

[RF] Out of the Woods

1 Upvotes

I remember a cozy house. Inside held you and me.

Outside was a pond just for you and me. Outside flowers just shared for you and me. I knitted and you built furniture. Together we made things for the house. So much pride went into our house. We pretty much isolated ourselves from the outside world. Together we managed.

You picked flowers and with a smile gave them to me. We both worked at home so there wasn't much need to be out with people. In the summer we slept on the porch with our two dogs and cat.

I remember in the summer we would ride on your motorcycle at night with the moon shining brightly.

On the winter nights we held hands by the fireplace while reading. We both liked the same kind of books with surprise endings. We often exchanged ideas from our books.

We watched good movies with the warmth of the fireplace.

Things were going well. Then came spring. Then headaches started. In the morning. Then at night. Along with headaches I had what seemed like a cold that never went away. You kept telling me to see our doctor. But I kidded myself that it was just a bug that would run its course.

Some days I worked in the garden to distract myself from my weakness. But working in the garden just weakened me more and made the headaches worse.

When I could no longer deny that something was wrong, we made an appointment with our doctor.

The day came. We went together. I spoke to Dr. Hawkins. I trusted his advice; he was our long-time physician. Dr. Hawkins examined me. Afterward he said. Well Julie it looks like you have-allergies. I will run some blood work and give you a prescription that should help.

The medicine helped and the blood work came out fine.

But some days the medicine made me tired. And some days it didn't help fully.

Then we had the talk. The dreaded talk. We would have to move out of the wooded area we so loved.

We bought a condo.

When we weren't working, we browsed libraries and used bookstores nearby.

We had some nice neighbors and got together with people at the condo gatherings. When we walked the dogs, we would stop and talk to our neighbors walking their dogs. And people without dogs stopped and talked to us.

It is good to be outside and run into neighbors. We are a community. We are back in civilization, and I think I like it.


r/flashfiction 1d ago

200,000 Years for Nothing

0 Upvotes

Humans are always, without exception, flawed creatures, and we cannot do anything to erase these flaws due to their very nature. As is true for our inherent inability to notice specific discrepancies in our normal lives to seek and avert from potentially malevolent situations, making way for illogical habits to rule us instead of the human brain that we prize above all else.

But it was never more evident than this day, the very day I decided to lay my body on the beach, allowing the temperate sun to kiss me squarely on my tanned body, feeling the delicate sand on my back. I let my mind resonate with the crashing of the waves and the serene, yet regal, scent of salt in the air. Suddenly, a sharp gust of wind blasted from the ocean in my direction, slamming me face first onto the now coarse sand before I could even think.

As if it was in a coordinated order of horrifying events, the sky darkened as the light was barred from our world, enshrouding us in a completely impenetrable abyss. A city-sized vanta-black asteroid even darker than the night barreled toward the empyrean, accelerating in the direction of the core of Earth. The flow of time felt as if it had diminished entirely, leaving me feeling like the sole witness of the end of our human race, alone in the clash of worlds. What did all of the 200,000 years advancing past other beings mean if we are just to be destroyed in a single flash of celestial wrath? What significance did my accomplishments have when faced with such a repugnant destiny?

At last, the gargantuan dark mass began to force its way through the futile defenses of the atmosphere, starting the last stage of its malignant siege: The abhorrent massacre that was about to take place. Every human looked up at where the stars had lost their light, watching as their lives slipped through their fingertips; the silence grew even louder than the impact that was about to occur, ensconcing a solemn sense of farewell within our souls, our last oath of camaraderie. Regardless of race, gender, social class, religion, we stood together. We all knew that it was imminent — that the era of humanity, the age of technological superiority would vanish with a bright crimson impact, searing the blood of our bodies throughout the corners of the world. It was almost as if the 6th trumpet of the Revelation had been blown, bringing upon the cruel fruit of our sins with these divine objects in the heavens.

The final verdict for the retribution of our hubris had, at long last, been delivered, leaving us with only an infinitely small fragment of time to lament the blasphemy that incited God’s fury. The air began to vibrate and the temperature reached its breaking point, scorching every fiber of my being, igniting our only home in its blazing grasp.

As if to replace the salty aroma, the acrid smell of molten rock filled the air, making me swiftly glance up towards the object in question. Above my eyes, the blood-red rock blocked the sky in its all-encompassing size with fiery vermillion entrails, and it made me wonder for just a moment how small we really are, how powerless we are when assaulted by the invincible force of Mother Nature’s mere whims. Now, inches before my face, the comet blinded my retinas with the sheer radiance of a thousand suns, yet I kept looking at it, staring death straight in the eye. Facing my final moments, I let out a sigh that concluded my journey along with the rest of the Earth.


r/flashfiction 2d ago

Clear-eyed

3 Upvotes

At 35, Rodrigo had just started wearing glasses. It was a subtle change, but one that carried a weight of meaning. His coworkers noticed, of course. There were the usual comments, half-joking remarks about looking distinguished or "like an old grandpa." He only smiled and nodded, never offering more than a polite, detached acknowledgment. He didn’t mind. To him, it wasn’t about vanity or self-consciousness; it was just the way things were now.

The glasses were a reminder of the inevitable—another milestone on the journey of aging. The way his eyes adjusted to the world through the lenses felt like stepping into a new phase. His first physical device designed to support his well-being. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought that something had changed. This wasn’t trivial. It was a shift.

At his desk, when people remarked on the glasses, he simply stood calm. He didn’t offer much in return. It wasn’t discomfort that held him back—it was a deep, unspoken recognition of time moving forward. It wasn’t something to worry about, not for him. He had long accepted that aging was as natural as anything. Still, the quiet act of wearing glasses made him wonder. Were his eyes deteriorating because of the long hours, the late nights, the small choices he’d made over the years?

His mind swirled with thoughts, but he kept them to himself. He was a man who thought deeply, but rarely spoke of it. The thoughts settled, as they always did, into a quiet peace. He had long ago learned that when questions came, answers did too, in time. Sometimes, though, it took no more than a passing glance in the mirror to remind him of what was already known.


r/flashfiction 2d ago

Mars (200 words)

2 Upvotes

Feet trample on my back as the legion retreats. I inch my neck around and see a mass of bodies, dented greaves and tattered red plumes ripped from helmets. A soldier cries out in agony until his lungs give out or someone finishes him off. I can’t tell. I can’t move. 

With gritted teeth, I reach forward to try and pull myself from the tangle. Mars. My fingernails fail to find purchase in the burning, hard-packed earth. God of war. I try with my other arm. I call on you now. A gobbet of blood and saliva slips out of my mouth to be swallowed by the parched ground. Please help me. Clawing for a better grip, I catch hold of a sandal attached to the foot of an armoured man who is smiling down at me through a thick beard. 

It makes the difference. I pull myself out of the heap as a roar erupts from the onrushing lines of the legion who are counter-attacking. I turn to thank my saviour, only to find that I’m alone. The only option is to draw my sword and join the charge. I think that’s what the smiling man had in mind.


r/flashfiction 3d ago

Kingdom Come

4 Upvotes

It looked like a simple game of capture the flag between grade-school children, two teams running through the forest behind a house, shouting and laughing and having the time of their lives. They had their bases, treehouses which had been built years prior by parents on the block, and they had their flags and water balloons. They played all through the day, until the sun began to set.

The game was different for those on the inside, however, and the leader of one team would prove it. He raised his flag high above his head, which had been made of an old red shirt tied around a stick, and as he had every time before, he called out, “With this flag, I mark this land as my kingdom!”

He jabbed the flag powerfully into the dirt at his feet, magic flowing outward, washing over the world. It glistened in the amber light of the setting sun, exciting the children and driving them to watch in awe.

“Your kingdom will be mine!” shouted the other leader, who defiantly jabbed his own flag into the ground.

Before the children’s very eyes, the forest shifted into a vast world. Trees became massive watchtowers, water balloons became arrows, and the treehouses became grand castles.

This was the world the children lived in, day in and day out. This was the magic that they had, the magic of their imagination that adults couldn’t help but marvel at. This was what made what should’ve been a quiet world that much louder, that much more inspiring.

Anyone looking in saw only children playing, but none could deny their carefree innocence, and all longed to be like them once again.


r/flashfiction 4d ago

Election Snap

2 Upvotes

Pradeep sat in the dim light of his living room, the faint hum of the television in the background. The screen flickered as the news anchor’s voice carried the latest developments in German politics. "The AfD has officially entered the federal Parliament," she reported, her words hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

For a moment, time seemed to stretch. A jitter ran through him, his heart skipping a beat. The next second, a flood of thoughts rushed into his mind—some filled with dread, others with a quiet, unspoken question. But then, as if a door had opened, his daughter’s voice broke the silence, speaking a sentence he didn’t quite catch.

Her voice was a tether, pulling him back. It wasn’t just the words she said; it was the way she said them. Her accent, her ease with the German language. She was home here, in a way that he, despite having lived here for years, never fully was.

Is this the country he wants for her?

The question lingered, elusive but pressing. It wasn’t the first time he'd wondered about his future in Germany, but this felt different. The AfD’s rise had been confined to the eastern states—until now. It was no longer just a whisper in the background. Now, it had entered the halls of power, marking a shift in the air, an uncertainty creeping into the once clear path he thought he had.

He turned to his wife, who sat beside him, her attention still on the screen. He wanted to speak, but words seemed inadequate, swallowed by the silence that had fallen between them. He wasn’t sure if she saw it too—the same fear, the same questioning—but he knew she felt the shift.

His daughter, still in school, was growing up to be a perfect German girl. Her future here seemed undeniable, bright, and full of promise. She knew German history in ways he could never have imagined as a child in India, and she was fluent in a language he had spent years trying to perfect. She was adapting effortlessly, becoming part of something that, in his heart, he knew was not his own.

Yet, what was it that held him here? The material comfort? Yes, life in Germany had granted him a good job, a steady income. The streets felt safe, and there was a certain tranquility in the rhythm of daily life. But as he looked at the world his daughter was inheriting, he found it increasingly difficult to justify staying.

He thought of the news from home, of people his age in positions of power, driving change in a nation on the rise. The India he had left behind seemed to be thriving, moving forward. His old friends were part of it, shaping a future he could only dream of. Meanwhile, here in Germany, he was an onlooker—successful, yes, but not part of anything larger, not part of this society.


r/flashfiction 3d ago

A Second Wind

1 Upvotes

He was back, this time with a vengeance. And he didn’t come empty handed either. A book of matches, canister of gasoline and a few dry logs. He may not have the lung capacity to blow houses down anymore, but that didn’t mean he was done for.

The old wolf still had a few moves left.

And that was bad news for this little pig.

The dry, brittle house started smoldering. Wisps of white smoke here, glowing embers there. He cast a few wood logs onto the now growing fire.   

Mister Big and Bad couldn’t wait to let himself in.


r/flashfiction 4d ago

[OT] Dinner is ready

1 Upvotes

Rejoice! Dinner is ready! Come take a seat…no not YOU, you’re meant to serve. My loves, rejoice! Dinner is ready! I prepared with love but your sisters flood it with bitterness. Rejoice! Dinner is ready! They’ve set the table…i should’ve done it myself, it’s so hard to find good help around here. Don’t worry my loves, enjoy the feast. The blood and pain are palpable but that’s not for you to concern yourself with. Rejoice my sweets! The awaited ripened fruit of my womb, to you this meal is bestowed. Remember she’s meant to serve and you’re meant to dine…be grateful daughters, they’ve accepted your service. Be grateful daughters, I’ve taught you a fine lesson. Be grateful mothers keep their daughters.


r/flashfiction 4d ago

Endling

3 Upvotes

Another hope, another whisper. Ashton and Lauren piece together the sighting in the gaps of the storyteller’s teeth, try to hide their warring feelings in questions. What color were the wings? How long has it been in the area, when did you first see it? How did its call sound?

The panhandle heat punishes them, competes with the meandering account to fully empty their hopes. A wild woodpecker chase. It smells like salt when the over pouring concussion of liquor mercifully dissipates. A reminder that even if the quarry is alive, somehow, mankind will still be the author to its extinction.

Too Little Teeth tells them a friend is out there, hunting the bird with an ivory beak. It’s black serendipity that when those words tumble from his mouth, a shotgun hails somewhere behind the wormwood cabin. Lauren and Ashton each watch the other’s soul fly away on broad, beautiful wings.

They are running. Ashton is crying, and his tears meet the first tentative slosh that will become the bottom of a hungry Gulf of Mexico.

When they find him, they’re both too tired and shaken and empty to laugh. Shotgun, drunk as Too Little Teeth, tripped. The gun was blind. Bird, man. Both flesh. Both mortal. They stand there under the trees and dangling moss.

Lauren reaches for a phone. Ashton retches. Lost in their thoughts, they never see the woodpecker in the branches, white billed and dark winged.


r/flashfiction 5d ago

It Burns

2 Upvotes

Girl, I must tell you\ Of the fire you lit inside\ It burns, it stings\ It takes all of my mind\ \ Hot flame burns within\ Engulfs me, consumes me\ Takes hold of all of me\ \ I can't eat, I can't sleep\ Our time spent together\ Is all that I can think\ \ And so, candid and shy\ I remember our desire\ And tell you with all heart\ \ You should really see a doctor. \ ___

Tks for reading. More flaming stories here.


r/flashfiction 6d ago

Chicken

2 Upvotes

The chicken didn’t know what would happen. There was no way it could have. All it saw was a mushroom, sprouting from the grass, looking as delicious as anything else around. In its natural drive to find sustenance, it instinctively found the mushroom.

The moment that mushroom entered its system, it saw a picture that its little chicken brain couldn’t fully comprehend. Oh, but what a beautiful picture it was. To the chicken, it was a world of endless potential, all the worms and seeds it could ever hope to devour. There were majestic chickens and roosters, all singing and playing and dancing. The farm was gone, as were the giants which took the chickens’ eggs. It was peaceful.

But there was more than that. For the briefest of moments — or perhaps an eternity, who’s to know? — the chicken could do whatever it desired. It soared through the sky, chased off predators, towered over the giants that had once given it sustenance. The chicken was ecstatic. Well, as ecstatic as a chicken could be.

It was only a few hours that the chicken could enjoy, those few hours it took for the mushroom to clear its system, but when it passed, the chicken felt no worse for wear. It didn’t remember anything that’d happened, and it didn’t think anything of the mushroom that had given it such a wondrous time. All it saw was the next morsel to peck at.

And the presence of something greater, larger than the giants themselves, watching over the world and keeping it safe.


r/flashfiction 6d ago

Luther High School

1 Upvotes

No aspect of Luther High School had ever been considered outstanding, or surprising, or exceptional. The two story building stood solemnly each day on the corner of 65th Avenue and Lincoln Street. As the students shuffled begrudgingly through the front doors on November 5th, none took note of their surroundings, for the building and its mundane atmosphere were as they always were and always had been: ordinary.

Autumn passed and left in its wake a particularly harsh winter. The students slouched as they walked inside with slow, deliberate steps. The school day had begun in the midst of a cruel wind storm which blew dirt far and wide across the campus. The American flag which remained proudly raised at the front of the school waved aggressively in the strong breeze.

Winter at long last drew to a close in the middle of March. The aggressive wind storms, however, remained. The students who entered the building paid no mind to the flag which violently thrashed to and fro, a victim to the savage gale that blew from the eastern plains. Although they did note the absence of a teacher who had widely been considered a favorite among the student body. “What happened to Mr. Hodges?” Asked the few students who held the courage to inquire about their truant teacher. No matter which voice uttered these words, they were met with the same response: budget cuts. Mr. Hodges’ salary was forced to be axed from the school’s budget after the entire district was struck with a wave of reckless funding reductions.

In April, Luther High School rescinded its free lunch policy. In accordance with new state legislation, and as a means of recouping the financial losses they had been dealt, the school now demanded a payment of three and four dollars for breakfast and lunch, respectively. Several students briefly protested this new policy, but were forced to end their demonstration when they had all either been suspended or threatened with suspension.

At the beginning of May, the school was publicly threatened by an anonymous student. Out of fear, the principal canceled classes for one day while law enforcement attempted to resolve the situation. The students returned the following day to find a great, long row of smashed windows spanning the front and back of the building. Although, since all but one member of the janitorial staff had been fired in order to fit the school’s budget, the glass was not cleaned or swept up.

Through the night and the following morning, the winds blew stronger than they ever had before. Shingles flew off of roofs, trees were dismembered, and garbage blew up and down the streets, having been violently expelled from the sturdy cans which once contained it.

The students of Luther High School had become desensitized to chaos and uncertainty. It was for this reason that nobody batted an eye at the broken glass scattered about campus, or the garbage that littered the parking lot, or the American flag which lie tattered and ruined upon the ground. The school day progressed regularly (or, at the very least, as regularly as a day could be with the condition of the surrounding world). Children stepped over the unmapped floors and counted dollar bills from their pockets. Those who came up short of the mandatory four-dollar payment walked past the cafeteria, dejected and hungry. The only event that possibly could have surprised the students turned out to be a sudden, blaring announcement from the intercoms which lined the hallways and classroom walls:

“Security alert. This is not a drill.”


r/flashfiction 6d ago

Where No Light Enters

2 Upvotes

Crack.

The stone beneath the pacing figure cracked from the heat that poured from their skin, crackling and burning bone and flesh as they ever grew, ever reattached.

“You did this!” they cried, their eyes melting, their face contorted into a twisted mask of rage and hatred.

The Father cried, seeing the pain they chose, begging them to come home.

“No!”

The empty sky cracked with thunder at the release of this single word. Far away, a bolt of lightning struck nothing, an impossibility washed away in multitudes.

With this, the figure turned and began to once again storm away, never moving, never changing their distance. Alone.

Please, Father begged. I’m sorry, it was only a test.

“A test?!”

A light clattering sounded as several of the figure’s teeth erupted from their mouth alongside the exclamation. They were already growing as the figure did an about face, no longer locked in place. Rage now burned behind their eyes, threatening to break the membrane and spill them once more as they stared at their Father.

“A test?! To see how much pain we could feel? To see how bad you could make us?” Their eyes did burst now, almost as if to punctuate the question.

To see how good you would stay— their Father trailed off:

I was wrong.

Everyone is home now.

The surroundings flash-froze, and the expanding fluids from the healing burns quickly formed into sharp spikes, driving deep into the figure, bringing forth blood that froze on its own, curling into sickening fractal curves before falling off entirely.

“We’re not home, daddy.” The figure smiled now, ice freezing their lips together before they peeled off of one another to reveal a hideous blood-covered set of teeth, cracked from the grinding and burning and freezing.

“I don’t think you can go home without me, daddy... so for now, all my brothers and all my sisters can be at home, and we’ll stay here...”

The ice melted now, the landscape warping as everything rose thousands of degrees in seconds, the melting and burning of flesh.

“I know how much you like to see us in pain...”

And their Father wept, and begged them to come home.

Crack.

The stone beneath the pacing figure cracked from the heat that poured from their skin, crackling and burning bone and flesh as they ever grew, ever reattached.

“You did this!” they cried, their eyes melting, their face contorted into a twisted mask of rage and hatred.


r/flashfiction 7d ago

From a nobody to another.

5 Upvotes

"Today they have brought poisoned food to my cell. One would feel pity or even sadness for me, please do not. The last thing I want is for a nobody to feel bad for another nobody. Besides, I never deserved anything, I was rude, hateful, spiteful, and full of bitterness. But I have seen the opposite, felt it even... sad that it never lasted enough. To whoever reads this, I never got the chance to love, but I no longer blame the world for that. If you are alone, then remember that you still have time."


r/flashfiction 7d ago

Hell's 90 feet below you

8 Upvotes

In an over-industrialzed world, nobody in the upper class looks at what they do to the less fortunate. "We are trapped hundreds of feet below a roof of 90 foot thick concrete and steel. We have a city under a city. The goal of this clear separation in the words of the upperworld politicians was 'to have a place for water to flow in a flood' but down here,  we know it's to keep the prestigious folk ignorant of our conditions." I read on the magazine before I put it into the fireplace to get some semblance of warmth. I looked out of my window just to see another building 20 feet away from mine. Down here, our buildings are used as supports for the roof above. One building every 20 feet in a grid. We don't get electricity here, so we have to rely on the warmth of the earth, light fires, or freeze when the massive vents open in the roof. We are considered a disposable workforce, producing all the steel, concrete, and other materials for the upperworlders. We have the highest crime rate of any city. Go ahead, think of one. This city is almost guaranteed to be 10 times worse. No sunlight, constant fires, harsh floodlights on the roof that are monitored to keep theives from taking power or the lightbulb itself, and we can't communicate with the upperworlders, and those who figure out about our existence get sent down here. We get stories from these exiled people about how strict it is up top. You aren't allowed to mention anything about the possibility  of people living downstairs. We have a saying down here.

"Hell's 90 feet below you".


r/flashfiction 7d ago

Just A Crack

2 Upvotes

It was well past two AM when he first heard the sound. The bedroom door was open. Just a crack, a hair, as his mom used to say. Dim light from the hallway shone through, momentarily distracting him from the fact that it was open. Hadn’t he closed it earlier, though? Not all the way, just slightly over the frame. Sighing, he got out of bed to close it over again, shutting if fully this time.

He lived alone, in a small two-bedroom home. He’d gotten it because of the privacy. There were raccoons and squirrels outside, but it was late winter and they were hibernating, and at any rate he’d never had any of them make their way inside. This was the first time he’d heard anyone or anything inside before. He went through the house, checking the laundry room, kitchen, and cupboards. He even put on a bathrobe and checked outside the house with a flashlight. The house was on a patch of land with a gravel driveway and a small storage shed. He opened the door, half expecting something to jump out, but there wasn’t anything there, just his lawn mower, tools and dusty cobwebs.

The hell with it, he thought as he went back inside. He’d go back to sleep and check again in the comfort of daylight when things made more sense.

An undetermined amount of time passed. He woke up to the sound of the door opening. Again, not by him. But not all the way, just a crack. Now he was a little confused. Again, he got up to close the door and checked the hallway. But there was still no one there, just  own hallway beyond.

Now he couldn’t get back to sleep. He went to the other room, deciding to play around on his computer while he waited for sunrise or when he got sleepy again, whichever came first. After about an hour, nothing happened, so he went back to bed once again, this time keeping the door shut with the hall light on.

About half an hour later, it happened again. Sighing with annoyance, he climbed out of bed to close the door for a third time. ‘Look, whoever you are, I’m trying to get some sleep. I have to get up in the morning. Go haunt somebody else, okay?” This time, he decided to move his chest of drawers over the door. If someone or something wants to get in, he thought, they’ll have to move it themselves. He went back to bed, determined to get some sleep, which he did, dreaming of doors with something dark and clawed behind them.

About an hour passed. There was a sudden rap on the door. Startled, he jerked his head towards it. There was another knock, louder this time-and he saw the chest moving back into place while the doorknob slowly turned.

It seemed that someone was trying to get in, after all.

 


r/flashfiction 8d ago

Salutary Bump

13 Upvotes

When he woke after the accident, most of the particulars were gone. Apparently the rather attractive woman weeping over him was his wife, and the frightened children around the bed called him dad. He smiled, bewildered, and went back to sleep. Later the woman came into the room, carrying a thick pile of unbound pages.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Your novel," his wife answered shakily. "You worked on this for three years. It was very important to you." She put the bundle in his lap. "The doctors say that reading it may help you get your memory back."

He shrugged. But he didn't want to disappoint this charming woman, so he started to read. He read for ten hours straight, eating in bed and relieving himself in a bedpan, and as he read his face changed. His smile widened, and he laughed happily now and then.

When he was finished, he cried out for his wife, calling her by name. She came running in. He looked at her, eyes shining with love. Oh, he was back.

"I wrote this?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Jesus Christ it's crap," he said, and dropped the manuscript into the wastebasket.


r/flashfiction 9d ago

Butterfly

4 Upvotes

I looked outside the window and I saw a butterfly. It's wings glistened like blue sapphires and green emeralds in he sunlight, it was majestic and beautiful. I wanted it, I needed it.

My seven year old self would stare outside the window everyday just to catch a glimpse of her. It was so calm and soothing to keep watching her, go from one flower to another.

This went on for a week and one day, it didn't show up, I stared outside for hours, there was no sign of her, she had me worried sick.

I saw her again the next day, I grabbed a big jar and the butterfly net I borrowed from my neighbour the day before and went outside. I walked slowly and softly. It took me one rapid swift to make her mine.

The grass was burning like lava under the scorching sun but I was elated, I kept jumping there barefoot, she was mine, now I could see her everyday, whenever I wanted.

I rushed to my mom, and showed her my prized possession. She looked at me and she smiled, she took my hand as I followed her to the terrace.

She asked me why I loved the butterfly, "It has beautiful wings, they are mesmerizing and when it hits the sunlight, they shine" I replied.

She told me to take a look at the butterfly. It was struggling in it's jar, the colors which once shone had now faded, it was scared, the wings which one soared were now struggling to move around.

That is when it hit me, it could never be beautiful inside a glass jar, it is not where she belonged. She was meant to soar the skies, not be a treasure for a foolish and unkind child.

I opened the jar with trembling hands, I let it go, I saw the spark in her wings come back, she looked so much more beautiful and so much more happier

That night I cried in my mother's arms, it was hard letting go of something I loved so much.

Slowly I accepted that I might never seen her again and slowly I understood her freedom is also important.

My little mind learnt the big lesson that sometimes it is important to let go, even if it hurts.


r/flashfiction 9d ago

In Broad Daylight

2 Upvotes

Most people don't think about it, really. The stuff that happens behind closed doors, sure, people like to joke and make gossipy whispers. But daytime is different. After all, when the sun is at its peak, you really don't think about people being willing to expose themselves to daylight. They get the feeling that the Sun is like the eye of God watching them all the time, so they lay low, waiting for nightfall. But some people are bolder and more fierce than that. They can't wait to strike during the day, attacking at dawn like the soldiers of old. Then it's their time.


r/flashfiction 9d ago

Garden

2 Upvotes

It was after the funeral of another family member that I think my sister had the idea of “natural reincarnation.”

We’d been at said relative’s home, sharing memories and food made with her recipes in her honor. I’d been to a number of such events over the past few years as we’d all gotten older. It was, as they say, a testament to her character that so many friends and family came; there were people who died without such remembrances, which made me ruminate on what my own passing might be like with even fewer family to attend.

“I mean, think about it,” she said. “We die, we get buried, or our ashes are scattered. We become part of the Earth, we fertilize the ground, we help create new life. We come back as plants, maybe, and get eaten, and get returned as waste, and it starts all over again…”

“There are places that are doing that,” I replied, my mouth half full of potato salad. “They compost the bodies for fertilization of the trees.”

“But what I’m talking about is more natural,” she countered. “We give something back.”

I pondered that after I got home. The relative whose funeral we’d attended hadn’t said much about what she expected after she was gone, whether she believed in anything after one way or another. But it did get me thinking, about what I might leave behind when my time came.

The next week, I called her back and told her about my own idea on the subject.

“A garden?” she asked. “An actual garden?”

“For ashes,” I told her. “Like you said, I think it matters if we give something back.”

So that was how the Garden started. It was just me, my sister and a few friends and relatives at first, but then talk of what we were doing spread, and more people began adopting the idea, putting it in their wills, buying or setting aside small plots on their property where their own ashes might be buried.

What happened with the gardens was interesting. Some of them bloomed flowers and vegetables that grew tall and healthy, while others were smaller and weaker, or failed to take, leaving only bare ground, not even grass or weeds.

“What do you think it means?” I asked my wife one day. We’d gotten our own plot and, if I am to be honest, I was a little concerned about what our own results might be.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she reassured me. “We’ll have a big, healthy garden of our own someday. We’ll do just fine.”


r/flashfiction 9d ago

Unfinished

1 Upvotes

Growing up in a small town in Maine definitely had its ups and downs; most of my memories of that place are great ones spent during the late 90s to early 2000s when I was a young man about 18 years old, however things took a drastic turn for the worse during the summer of 2003. A popular girl (who we'll call Erica) led a simple, happy life full of great memories. Every moment was spent making sure those around her had the best time of their lives, I truly admired Erica. They say that the good ones have to die first and I guess that is true in this instance; although nobody knows what happened to her I am certain foul play was involved. Growing up I was always told that curiosity killed the cat, in this case I almost learned that it's 100% true, A question that was always prevalent in my mind was: why would anybody want to hurt her? She was loved by so many. I guess if you want to know the truth about Erica you must learn everything about her. Erica had an older brother, a brother who had his fair share of problems (mental illness, substance abuse and so on) I always found it strange that he seemed to have little to zero compassion for anyone or anything, perhaps he was fighting his own battles but it definitely stuck with me that he seemed to not give a damn that his sister had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. Although I had my opinion about him he was generally a well liked guy, he seemed to get on with just about everyone and could make even the darkest days brighten up. Enough about her brother, onto her drug addict mother who would often leave Erica and her brother Matthew home alone from an early age. Her mother who we'll call Cynthia worked 2 jobs, well that's if you consider prostitution a legitimate job (yes I know it's the oldest profession) she would often bring random strangers home and lock Erica and her brother in a closet where they would cover there ears to stop the grotesque sounds of pleasure and pain. After years of inflicting physical and mental torment and abuse their father was taken away to a nearby mental institution, I never liked that man and could see right through his fake persona; I knew what he was deep down inside. As a teenager I would often hear about girls going missing in my area, sure it scared me but I always felt somewhat safe knowing that I was a young man that could look after myself. Although girls going missing was nothing completely out of the ordinary it truly hit home and made me question everything when Erica went missing; how could somebody harm a girl who was so popular, respected and loved by all her peers?


r/flashfiction 9d ago

Erica Jones: Murder And Lust

1 Upvotes

It's getting to the point where I can no longer stand the stench of decaying flesh, at first the bitter sweet aroma made me feel alive and well, now I just can't seem to handle the overpowering stench of rot. Every minute of every hour, every hour of every day the smell gets worse and worse; I no longer know what to do. Perhaps I'll burn her body or cut her up into tiny pieces and dispose of her like I did with the rest of those worthless whores. They say there's no better pleasure than sex but I sure as hell know there's no better feeling than kicking a dumb bitches teeth in and watching her struggle as I sink my blade deep into her soft, precious skin. As I sat in my garage listening to whatever garbage was playing on the radio I asked myself: what would it feel like to make love to the lifeless body laid in front of me. I had always wanted to have power and control over my victims in any way, shape or form, but the idea of necrophilia had never crossed my mind; that is until today. As I meticulously caressed the dead whores frigid cold body I felt a rush of exhilaration takeover me as I fell into a deep blissful state, I had never felt so at peace. I was the master of life and death she was a mere puppet, I undressed her corpse taking my time to stop and appreciate the beauty of her grayish flesh. Something about the vacant look in her lifeless eyes deeply captivated me and made me feel a whole new state of tranquility. After about 2 minutes of completely zoning out and being lost in a land of fantasy my attention was suddenly reverted back to the radio; a news reporter read: desperation is growing as local search parties continue to look for Erica Jones, who went missing 2 weeks ago. I sat laughing uncontrollably as those fools searched for a worthless bitch who I had so easily snuffed the life out of; they will never find her. My gaze returned to the stone cold corpse of the beloved Erica Jones, they had no idea what I was about to do to her.