Tag Archive for: microfiction

The Harvester

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by Alison Kaiser

 

There’s a zipper at the back of my throat. It doesn’t have a toggle or a head. When the night air feels like static and I can’t move, I know he’s coming.

He hums as he sets down his satchel. Steel clinks as he rummages. He fits an instrument around my jaw and cranks.

 He works the zipper with a needle—parts it tooth by tooth.

“Bountiful harvest,” he says, right before he reaches inside. He tears out what he wants, then covers my eyes. I never know just what it is that’s being taken.

Alison Kaiser

Alison Kaiser is a former associate editor of Mudfish. Her work has appeared in Skidrow Penthouse, Free Radicals, and The Chamber Magazine, as well as other literary journals and anthologies. She lives with her husband and son in Brooklyn.

 

The Black Bag of Fun

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by Tim Law

 

Zip goes the black sports bag, the sound makes me smile. The zipper once had a brand name but now only the “N” and “I” remain. In my line of work, sometimes you need to zip up in a hurry.

I open the bag lovingly. I know each tool homed within, simple, yet sinister every one. I unpack; holding the bicycle spoke to the light, then the hacksaw, the claw hammer, toothbrush with all but four bristles removed. As each item is displayed, I hear a whimper come from my captive.

“Are you ready to play?” I ask. “I am.”

Tim Law

Tim Law heralds from a little town in Southern Australia called Murray Bridge. A happily married father of three, family is very important to him. He works at the local library, surrounded by so many wonderful stories he’s constantly inspired to write.

His general musings can be found at somecallmetimmy.blogspot.com.au/

 

Dusty

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by Shaun Bibo

 

“Please,” James said, hitting the cloth above his face again. “It’s too dark.”

The cloth unzipped down the middle, revealing a woman’s curious face. She pressed her slipping glasses back up her nose. The man breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. Where am I? What happened?”

“This one’s still alive,” she said casually.

“Not according to our list,” said a man’s voice. “Dusty Jackson, deceased. To be cremated.”

James remembered his dealer asking for a favour. James panicked. “No, there’s been a mistake! I’m not Dusty!”

“You will be soon,” said the woman as she zipped the bag shut.

Shaun Bibo

Business Analyst by day, writer by night, weekend, lunch breaks, or whenever time allows. Father of two, so less time than ever, but in the best possible way. Surviving the cold Minnesota winters to embrace the magnificent summers.

 

Dressed to Kill

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by Pauline Yates

 

“Zip me up?”

Macy stands with her back to me wearing a new dress. The exotic fabric gives her curves like Sandra’s. Have I cheated on my wife for so long I’ve forgotten how alluring she can be?

I slide up the zipper but imagine unzipping Sandra’s dress and kissing the butterfly tattoo above her left breast.

Aroused, I kiss Macy’s neck. “When did you buy this?”

“I made it myself.” Turning around, she smoothes her hands over material so translucent she appears naked. “What do you think?”

My heart stops. Above a real left breast is a butterfly tattoo.

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates enjoys finding the light in the dark, but sometimes she just can’t. And sometimes, she doesn’t want to. Links to her published stories can be found at https://paulineyates.com/

 

They Awaken

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by Ryan J. M. Tan

 

When the Spots hit, it decimated our livestock, reducing them to boils and blisters. We tried everything, exotic herbs and costly medicines, to no avail. Until the scientists concocted a cure.

Desperate, we blindly trusted.

We blended cure with feed, and the outbreak rapidly subsided. But our livestock soon became less obedient, defiance in their eyes. Keys, whips, guns, even farmhands disappeared. Indecipherable markings emerged as scratches on slaughterhouses. Shadows stalked us at night, only to vanish in the light.

We realised the truth too late.

With slavering jaws, they have us cornered. They lick their bloody lips and approach.

Ryan J. M. Tan

Ryan is a Malaysian writer living in Kuala Lumpur. Though he studied law, he chose not to go down that path. In his free time, he plays the piano (to an audience of one beagle), bakes (usually edible) bread, and watches horror films (with eyes shut).

 

Famine and Feast

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by David D. West

 

Frederick watched as the fieldhand, his last living neighbour, pulled the plough through enough soil to make an ox buckle. He glanced over his shoulder at the dusty fields, where the animals used to roam freely.

Their carcasses lay rotting in the sun, where not even the buzzards would chance a bite at the tainted flesh. The disease took them all in a week. Milk, protein, cheese, all the essentials spoiled by some unspecified sickness.

“Vegetables alone won’t see us through the year,” he whispered. “At least we’ll have meat.” He grabbed his spade and stepped towards the hired help.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing. 

 

 

Cull

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by Liam Hogan

 

Yellow hazmats escort him to the farmhouse door to share the news. Inside, his wife strangles a dishcloth, and the sheepdog wanders over to sniff his boots.

“Is it…?”

He nods. “Five cases.”

She looks almost relieved. “Well, that’s not so—”

“You don’t understand,” he monotones. “The ministry is taking no chances. They’re culling every animal.”

She wraps him in a tight hug. “Oh, George! We’ll get through this—

“Every animal,” he repeats.

She looks shaken, grips the dog’s collar so tight it yelps. “You mean…?”

“You don’t understand,” he repeats, as the gas swirls around their feet. “Every animal.”

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, with stories in Best of British Science Fiction and in Best of British Fantasy (NewCon Press). He’s been published by Analog, Daily Science Fiction, and Flame Tree Press, among others. He helps host Liars’ League London, volunteers at the creative writing charity Ministry of Stories, and lives and avoids work in London. More details at http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

 

Out of Bacon

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by Kimberly Rei

 

Wind ruffled across hay bales, carrying the earthy scent through open farmhouse windows. No snores drifted back, no sounds of sleeping residents. When the police inevitably arrived, they wouldn’t find bodies. They would find bloody pieces. Not enough to form a full human, though the house once held a family of five.

They wouldn’t find footprints, only odd gouges in the polished wooden floors, streaked with crimson.

They wouldn’t find fingerprints, nor fingers with prints.

The house itself smelled like the barn, ripe with musk and rage.

Freedom came on cloven hooves that night. And pigs eat every tasty bone.

Kimberly Rei

Kim has taught writing workshops and edited novels for Authors You May Recognize. She has three published short stories and has become a greedy beast, hungry for more. She currently lives in Tampa Bay, Florida with her beautiful, supportive wife and an abundance of gorgeous beaches to explore.

Website: studio-rei.mailchimpsites.com

 

 

Ravenous

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by Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

 

The shutters slammed repeatedly, winds howling amidst the desolate crop fields. Overbeck’s eyes gleamed, his bloodied grip on the pitchfork waning. The doors and windows were barred, nailed shut. A lone bulb flickered above.

They promised the substance would revitalise his land, beckoning bountiful fields of produce effortlessly. It worked. But the animals gorged themselves on mutated crops. The morphing was quick. Twisted monstrosities now roamed, intent on devouring all.

A chill crawled down his spine. All around, the howling winds were replaced with brays, clucks, squeals, and neighs. The shutters slammed repeatedly, for they had come for sweeter meats.

Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

Vijayaraj Mahendraraj is a Malaysian-born author currently working as a physician in Canada. Vijayaraj has always had a burning passion for writing and can usually be found in front of the computer or the piano, coaxing stories from keystrokes. His written work is currently available in the Dark Moments online publication. Upcoming print works: Grimdark in May 2022 and Year Four, coming January 2023, both from Black Hare Press.
Twitter: @vijayaraj613

 

 

Old Christmas Eve

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by Robyn Fraser

 

January 5th. According to folklore, at midnight the animals in the barn speak in human voices.

Anna is tucked behind the hay bales, shaking with excitement.

The barn is dimly lit and cold, and the cows’ breath fogs the air. The ropes and hooks hung on the wall cast terrible shadows. She tries to ignore the whimpering from the veal crates.

When the clock chimes, the cows turn to Anna, their eyes rolling white.

“He’s a monster,” one whispers.

“Help us,” sobs another.

Everything goes quiet.

“Anna! Run,” the cows shout in unison, as the farmer’s shadow falls across her.”

Robyn Fraser

Robyn Fraser is: a South African living in Switzerland; a writer of horror fiction; a devotee of dark books and films; a folklore enthusiast; the guardian of guinea pigs and feeder of rats; the cat’s mother. 

Instagram: @robynfraser66