Stories on the Go: 101 Very Short Stories by 101 Authors

by Hugh Howey

  John March

  lives in the UK and writes Science Fiction and Fantasy. He’s planning on releasing a number of titles around January 2015. When he’s not writing he spends his time working as a software developer.

  John March’s Website

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  Paranormal — Young Adult

  The Witch in the Woods

  Nadia Nader

  In a dark cabin, in the dark woods, a witch worked a dark spell.

  She hummed as she wove.

  Once upon a time, two sisters had lived in harmony in this very cabin, in this very woods. They lived a life of peace. It was a quiet life, but filled with love and laughter. Having been orphaned at an early age, the sisters only had each other. The woods provided them with soil to grow their herbs in and rabbits for their stews. What little else they needed, they made by hand or bought in town. They earned the little coin they had by selling remedies to the townspeople. Despite hardships they may have suffered, they always found a way to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. And the love they had for each other sustained them over the years.

  Until the day a handsome stranger, by the name of Jacob Tremaine, moved to Misty Hills and changed everything.

  Jacob Tremaine had golden hair that shone in the sunlight and bright blue eyes, as blue as the summer sky. He was unmarried, handsome, and wealthy. All these qualities made him a catch in the small town of Misty Hills, where not many men were available, handsome or wealthy.

  Though young, Jacob Tremaine was eager to make his mark and the small town of Misty Hills appealed to him. He had grand plans on what to do with his inheritance. And they didn’t involve a wife.

  However, as fate would have it, within a week of being in town, he saw and fell in love with the younger of the Eveleigh sisters. Summer blue eyes met warm brown eyes, and all ideas of bachelorhood were lost.

  The younger Eveleigh was young and full of life.

  She was also a witch.

  Jacob Tremaine, being new to town, did not know this.

  The townspeople of Misty Hills were aware that the Eveleigh sisters had magic in their blood, but Jacob Tremaine had not lived in town long enough to learn its many secrets.

  Among the talented families that lived in the sleepy town, the Eveleigh sisters were known for their spell-casting abilities. All the townspeople went to them for cures and remedies. The Eveleigh sisters were generous with their talents. In return, the townspeople were generous with what they bartered in exchange. And both parties co-existed in harmony.

  The courtship of Jacob Tremaine and the younger Eveleigh sister was much talked about in town.

  The elder sister was troubled by Jacob Tremaine’s attentions to her younger sister. Jealousy sank its claws into her heart. Greed joined to take root there, spurring her to delve into the depths of her abilities. And she concocted a devious plan to usurp her younger sister’s place.

  With her greater knowledge of spell-casting, the elder sister set out to capture the attentions of Jacob Tremaine. It wasn’t his heart she was after, but his wealth. She worked on the spell in secret, away from her sister’s prying eyes. Distracted by love, her sister wasn’t aware of the looming threat to her happy future.

  The elder sister’s spell worked. Within a week of its casting, Jacob Tremaine proposed marriage. Despite her younger sister’s recriminations and accusations, she accepted.

  Having stolen her sister’s lover, the relationship between the sisters broke irrevocably.

  Over the next weeks, the elder sister paraded her handsome husband around town. Blinded by the spell, he followed the elder sister’s instructions to a fault. She instructed Jacob Tremaine to build the mansion and instructed him to purchase the lands that held the dark woods on which her childhood home lay.

  Her sister still lived in those dark woods, in that dark cabin, alone.

  The younger sister’s eyes narrowed in bitterness. She worked for days, weeks, and months. She sacrificed sleep, driven by hate and revenge. She was driven by the aftermath of bitter heartbreak. Strong emotions colored her spell.

  Denial. Betrayal. Rage. Jealousy. Bitterness. Spite. Malice.

  All these ingredients made their way into the tapestry she wove.

  For a moment, an old emotion broke through. She pushed it away forcefully, locking it away. There was no room in this spell for regret. Regret was drowned in the sea of vengeance.

  There would be blood spilled for years to come.

  She continued to weave her spell, humming melodically under her breath.

  Nadia Nader

  is a writer living in Kuwait. When she is not procrastinating, she can usually be found typing furiously away on her laptop in that coffee shop down the road.

  For more about Nadia, check out her website.

  Nadia Nader’s Website

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  Fantasy

  Death’s Door

  R.M. Prioleau

  “Damn it all!” Another failed experiment. The corpse on the examining table was riddled with puncture wounds and sewn-up skin. It remained still even after being injected with my newest formula, which had taken me several sleepless nights to complete.

  Disgruntled, I yanked the thing off the table, dragged it out of my laboratory, and disposed of it in the swamp surrounding my cave. The body would fast decompose and feed the vegetation.

  The steady light rain washed the blood and chemicals and mud from my hands and clothing.

  It was late, I realized, as I returned inside. I would begin my experiment again in the morning.

  Five more days of toil and sweat in my laboratory, and I had managed to create another mixture, a modification of the last recipe. But I had no corpse to test it on. I considered reusing the one I’d discarded days ago, but it was probably waterlogged and useless after so long. I hissed through my teeth, annoyed. It seems I’ll have to inquire of the Lakis gravediggers again.

  I tidied my laboratory, stored my newly created formula, and set off.

  As I trudged through the wetland, I spotted a figure in the distance, far along the nearby well-traveled road. My keen senses picked up the sounds and smells of a human and a horse. They were headed south, toward me. My nose wrinkled.

  I slogged my way out of the swamp and onto the road, which was muddied from the recent rains. I began my three-hour walk northward through the mountains, to the grandiose city of Lakis. I dared not fly and risk exposing myself to unsavory humans.

  The horse-riding human had veered off the road and stopped at the edge of the wetlands. He’d dismounted and was surveying the land.

  I slowed my walk as I drew nearer to the stranger. He and his exquisite scale armor reeked of rotting corpses and blood — Dragon’s blood.

  A low growl rumbled in my throat. The man was trespassing in my territory. I did not take kindly to visitors, especially not ones of his kind.

  The horse’s ears swiveled my way, and it snorted at me.

  The man turned and acknowledged me with a nod. “Good evening, sir.”

  I forced a smile, but it was a grim one. “Good evening. And who might you be?”

  “My name is Cort. I have been hired by the Hemlock Hunters of Lakis to investigate a disturbance in the area.”

  I fought down a sneer at the mention of the Hemlock Hunters. Slayers. My greatest enemy, and a constant thorn in my side. “What kind of disturbance?”

  Cort glanced around. “Creatures of evil,” he said, voice low. “Abominations. Undead.”

  “Truly? In this area, you say?” I tapped my chin, feigning concern.

  “Indeed. In fact, I have already slaughtered one on my way here. Strange, it was, simply lumbering along the road toward Lakis. But when it saw me, it proceeded to attack. I felled the despicable thing with my blade.” He patted the sheathed longsword on his belt.

  His story struck me as odd — my experiments had failed, so where coul
d the undead have come from? — and I was inclined to investigate my discarded corpses from past failed experiments. But I couldn’t allow this human to suspect that the undead might be my doing. “Mind if I assist you in hunting the undead? This dreary place seems ideal for them to lurk. My name is . . . Davin. I am a . . . doctor of sorts.”

  Cort’s eyes lit up. “A doctor, you say? What luck! Your help would certainly be appreciated, Sir Davin.”

  After securing his horse to a nearby tree, Cort unsheathed his sword and proceeded into the swamp. I followed close behind.

  “Why did the Hemlock Hunters hire someone like you?” I asked while we slogged along. “I have heard rumors that they are…Dragon slayers.” Bitterness filled the last two words.

  “Yes, well, along with the undead, there is apparently also a Dragon that lives out here. I have yet to see or hear one, but they wanted me to report if I noticed anything.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I see.” Then you will not be reporting back.

  We scoured the swamp but found no undead. Even the discarded bodies were mysteriously gone, with no signs of decomposition left where they’d been. Has someone stolen them? Or—

  “The swamps seem to be quiet enough,” Cort said. “Thank you for your help, Sir Davin. I should be on my way now.” He turned to go.

  I touched the back of his shoulder. “Wait. Why don’t you stay and rest your legs a bit before setting out? I don’t live too far from here.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me, hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Well… All right. Thank you.”

  I smiled, brighter this time, careful not to reveal my fangs.

  I led him back to my cave and into the hovel where I stored food and other items. Cort sprawled out on the floor with his back against the wall and sighed. He began rubbing the dirt and grime from his armor and cleaned his blade. “You are most generous, sir. So you’ve made your home in a cave?”

  Leaving him there, I stepped into the next room — my laboratory — and retrieved my latest attempt at my formula. “Indeed,” I replied, transferring some of the contents into a syringe. “It’s peaceful here, and I can work undisturbed.” I hid the syringe in the sleeve of my coat and returned to the unsuspecting man, who was now standing up and stretching.

  “I really should be going now. Master Solanum will want to be updated. Thank you for allowing me to rest.”

  I hissed. “Do not leave so soon. I insist you stay.”

  While Cort looked at me confused, I lunged and stuck him in the neck with the syringe. He gasped, and the formula coursed through his body before he could respond further.

  He collapsed to the floor, convulsing. I stood back and watched the results. His body dried, wrinkled, and greyed, then went still.

  Moments later, the body’s legs and arms jerked, and it sat up on its own, enhanced with new life — or death.

  So it seemed the previous experiments hadn’t been failures. Just imperfect, with too long a delay before the formula set in. At last, I’d managed what I’d been aiming for.

  I smiled wickedly. And we’ve only just begun.

  R.M. Prioleau

  is a game designer by day and a dangerous writer by night. Since childhood, she’s continued discovering new ways to expand her skills and creativity as she delves into the realm of literary abandon. R.M. is a NaNoWriMo enthusiast who has been active in the worldwide writing community since 2009.

  R.M. Prioleau’s Website

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  Horror

  Living Bride

  Joel Ansel

  Dan and Jen were on their honeymoon when the flu virus rapidly spread across the Earth. As much as Jen hated to admit it, the location of their honeymoon proved to be their temporary salvation. They were young, broke and had just found out that Jen was pregnant. After a rushed wedding in the courthouse parking lot they embarked on the only honeymoon that they could afford.

  Dan’s father owned a small houseboat that was moored along a small forgotten bayou that ran through parts of the Big Thicket. Dan was sure that they would have a good time despite Jen’s lack of any camping experience at all. Jen had lived her whole life in Houston, while Dan had grown up along the Southeast Texas bayous near Beaumont. Jen was already miserable by the time Dan tied the tiny canoe to the old houseboat upon their arrival.

  The first news of the pandemic came to them as they listened to the small solar-powered radio on their first night. To Jen’s dismay, there was no WiFi or cell service. The news got worse throughout the night. The virus was spreading out rabidly from all the major cities of the world. It killed most of the infected within hours. Not all of them died though. At the height of their fevers some didn’t burn out, but became something much worse. They turned highly aggressive and started biting anyone around them. This made the virus spread even faster.

  Unbelievably, overnight the planet was covered with dead bodies. The only things left were an unknown number of walking, biting nightmares and the few people left who were either immune to the virus or were isolated from it in some way. Like Dan and Jen were.

  By first light the next morning the radio only picked up static. Dan decided to take the canoe and scout the nearest bridge some few miles up the bayou. He came back later that day with tales of the devastation and a laptop. He’d found the laptop in a car that had run off the bridge, killing the driver. It had a note taped to it with the words “What Happened” scribbled across it. Dan turned on the laptop and the newlyweds found several folders filled with the news reports and videos of the night before. Turns out that it was some kind of terrorist attack, which explained why it spread from all the major cities. There were areas to the far north that were less affected and it was believed that the virus would eventually run its course. Meanwhile, the rest of the planet was a rotting wasteland with only the biters roaming it and perhaps a few survivors. It could be months before the holdouts up north might be able to venture south at all. Jen felt cold shivers along her spine despite the summer heat. She was all too conscious of the life growing inside her.

  Over the next few weeks things got pretty tough for the young couple. They had decided to stay where they were and wait for rescue from the north. They even caught a few reports on the radio about rescue efforts that were slowly pushing down and apparently there was a vaccine being developed. It was slow going though, as the still walking infected had not starved to death as was hoped and they were hard to kill. The newlyweds had a supply of water and several canned goods that were stashed on the houseboat, but soon they were very hungry.

  They caught a few fish, but not enough to sustain them and Jen refused to let Dan leave her long enough to find much food. He did catch a few rabbits with a crude snare that he’d rigged up in the brush along the bank. Jen fought extreme nausea each time as Dan forced her to help him clean the rabbits and smoke them on the small BBQ smoker that was attached to the back of the deck. He told her that she needed to know how to do this if something were to happen to him.

  Dan was becoming more distant and short-tempered with every passing day. Despite Jen’s misgivings he started scouting for food for longer periods of time. Sometimes he would return with a can or two of something. Most of the time he returned empty-handed. Jen became convinced that he was eating most of what he found instead of bringing it all back to the boat. She was getting weaker and more afraid. She did not want to lose the baby.

  When Dan broke his leg she knew that they would all starve. He had fallen from the top of the cabin while trying to adjust the tarp that they were using to collect rainwater with. Searching her soul, Jen came up with an idea that just might save her baby. As Dan lay there on the deck holding his shattered leg she abruptly drove the claw end of a hammer into the back of his head. She calmly lit a fire in the small smoker. She even had a slight chuckle at the irony of Dan forcing her to learn how to clean and prepare the meat.

  When rescue finally came they found Jen had been liv
ing off the smoked meat of her dead husband. She’d become quite insane, but she’d saved her baby.

  Civilization slowly returned to the disease ravaged planet. Jen had a healthy baby boy who the new authorities took and adopted out to a nice family. They put Jen in a hospital where she lived out the rest of her days knowing that she’d done the right thing.

  Joel Ansel

  is an audio/video tech who lives in Southeast Texas with his wife, son, dog and several cats. He went to college for journalism and has written off and on for several years now. He is also hopelessly addicted to horror and science fiction in any medium.

  Joel Ansel’s Website

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  Afterword

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for spending your spare moments with us. We hope, now that we've met, you will stop by our websites and get to know us better.

  Go to the Table of Contents

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  Index by Author

  Ackerman, Micah: 38th Street

  Aires, Melisse: Justice For Rogue Incubators

  Allen, Wendy C. a.k.a. Eelkat: The Oak Tree — EelKat’s Twisted Tales

  Allyn, Anya: Another Point of View

  Ansel, Joel: Living Bride

  Ashling, Andrew: The Fiar

  Atkinson, Thea: Of Piss and Tobacco

  Aukes, Rachel: Beer, Bugs, and the End of the World

  Avera, Drew: My Last Moment

  Barr, Ellisa: Choose Peas

  Berger, George: Hudson and Hailey

  Bertauski, Tony: What I Wasn’t