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CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

Write about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories for it.

Posted in General on Jul 5, 2021

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✍️ 62 stories

“Kat the Monster Slayer: The Veil” by Daniel R. Hayes

My name is Katrina Wilcox, but my friends call me Kat for short. I live in New Hope, North Carolina, a hot spot for supernatural activity. Listen up people because I’m only going to say this once. Monsters, demons, and ghosts are real, and I hunt them down like the cowards they are and bring them to my swift justice! I know what you're thinking. Why is a thirteen-year-old girl waging war on things that go bump i...

50 comments 50
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“The Firefly Fairy” by A.G. Scott

To the untrained eye, the Cartwright farm seemed a nice enough place. Peaceful, if a bit isolated. But looking closer, over Ma Cartwright’s neatly cultivated garden, past old Nana Cartwright in her rocking chair on the porch, one would notice something… unnerving. Not only did the sidings peel, lending the house a general air of long-going decay; not only were the windows covered in rows of thick oak planks; but the Cartwrights themselves carried a mangy, wild countenance, untrained by polite society.Little Grayson Cartw...

34 comments 34 SHORTLIST ⭐️
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“Pancakes” by Melissa Condon

“Boys!” Matt called up the stairs. “Pancakes are ready!” Five young men came down the stairs in a cacophony of clattering feet and raucous voices. Talking, pushing, shoving, and jesting, they all managed to find their seats at the well-worn farmhouse table without incident. When they were settled,  Matt, clad in an apron that had been his mother’s, carried over a platter piled high with steaming, golden-b...

3 comments 3
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“The Wooden Horse” by A. H. Joy

Margreta wrapped the fragile wooden figurine in crepe paper the color of the eggshells she used to collect for market back home in Nuremberg. The crinkled paper was even speckled—the spots dark as coffee grounds against their nutmeg background—and she grazed the tissue-thin paper at the memory, a smile pulling at her lips. The smile faded, however, as memories flooded back to her from that time—not al...

6 comments 6
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“The Deck” by J. Storbakken

for Uncle SlugmoI guess we are both blessed by God. In different ways. We both are going somewhere (or, I'm about to, and he left years ago already). We're both not coming back to the United States of America, due to these blessings.Blessed by the Angels, I found a home. I've travelled all over, stressed about more things than I care to list here, and finally, I found a home. Blessed by the Angels Italiano.I found a home across the Pacific. By the Alps. I am not coming back....

1 comment 1
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“Dysfunctional Tales from Beyond the Grave” by Tommie Michele

Before I tell this story, I should probably make one thing clear. I’m a ghost.  Not one of those translucent, floaty ones in Ghostbusters, or the cute little kid variation of Casper, but somewhere in between.  A completely invisible 20-something-year-old man. Well, I was twenty when I died. I’ve lost track of how many years it’s been. But that’s not relevant.  Now that we’ve got that impo...

8 comments 8
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“Curdled: The Fracturing of an American Family” by Jayke Luland

Next to the eggnog, the egg-rolls, the eggs benedicts and the eggs Au fromage, was exactly 140 millilitres of pure cream, purebred, all-American milk. It was a glorious sight for all with penchants for contracting Salmonella. It was greyish in colour and smelt like the bottom of a rotting table with poop slathered over it. For the Mennie family, it was a holy milk, and one they idolised with a radical ideological commitm...

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“How Did St. Gamer's Day Start?” by Saad Aman Sayyed

Nana Ashley, as Peter called him, tucked Peter into bed and kissed him goodnight on the forehead as the sleep app started tracking neural activity. She remembered the good old days - when sleep apps could only track how many hours you slept. Those were the 2010s, a wonderful decade indeed. Melinda had already slept, but Nana Ashley's earbuds (which - as Peter would like to point out, were...

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“The Withering Profession of Edgar Allan Oaks” by Chris Tyroak

   Much has been written of legacy and inherited heirlooms that thread together, the generations of an honourable line. For Edgar Allan Oaks, this prevailed in the old custodian helmet of his late father, Leopold Oaks, who still held the distinguished record for the most civil arrests in a calendar year. This antique trophy stood as a reminder for each generation of Oaks that 'policing was a...

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“Crow Sammiches” by Charlene 🧙‍♀️✨ Boyce

This is how Byers’ special Saturday Crow Sammiches works: you start with two fresh slices of white bread. Cousin Kim apparently uses whole wheat bread, but she also gives her kids Ovaltine, so take that for what it’s worth.  Anyway, two fresh slices of white, you spread them thick with margarine or butter (whatever’s cheaper, as mom would say). Onto this you squirt classic yellow must...

2 comments 2
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“The Family Partition.” by Ritwik Saha

Gilbert was an industrialist, who owned numerous industries across the country. He worked hard in his youth, as he never wanted to die in destitution. However he was affluent in his youth, as was a descendant of a rich father. But, he toiled relentlessly to maintain the name and fame and was able to hold up to his father's name and fame.   He was a family of six, including his wife- Emily, his sons Ivan, Riley and...

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“Emergence of tales” by Emaan Arif Khan

Someone once said "A happy family is but an earlier heaven". This story is about a girl Amaara and her parents and grandparents.Once on the day of Eid when they were on the table having their feast grandfather handed a 100 bucks and said to Amaara ,"Here Amaara ,here is your Eidi i hope you will use it well" Amaara says ,"Yess dada jan i would buy something useful with this but there was no need for thi...

5 comments 5
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“Thursday Evening Strawberries” by Kayley Dickins

It was a nicer Thursday this week than it had been the last. It wasn’t bright sunshine and perfect candyfloss clouds, but there were at least gaps in the slabs of grey in the sky that enabled tiny slices of deep blue to show through. It was the best they were going to get at the tail end of February, so they would appreciate it. It was at least not raining, which they also appreciated, and which enabled them to sit by the open doors and admire the view of the grey industrial buildings surrounding them. Again, not great, but they would app...

1 comment 1
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“The Vase” by Anna Carter

The old porcelain vase that stood on the worn mahogany table in the DeSaint household was not anything special to an outsider. Some visitors assumed that it was an expensive piece of art imported from China, some thought nothing of it and some were kind enough – or nosy enough - to ask Mrs Olivia DeSaint of its origins. The answers she gave were never satisfactory, she simply said it was an old ...

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“Incy Wincy Spider” by Sharon Williams

Aunt Angharad was the most unlikely person to kowtow to our family tradition. A professor of psychology, who lectured around the world, she had had several books published. She was a strong independent woman in her early sixties who lived alone in a smart London suburb. When on her travels, she strode rapidly around with a confident, energetic air, carrying her laptop, and wheeling a case behind her. The family viewed h...

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