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Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of historical fiction short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

150+ Historical fiction Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Whether you’re looking to step back into ancient civilizations, the 19th-century, or anywhere in between, our collection of historical fiction stories is here to keep you riveted.

Historical fiction Short Stories – Page 10 of 10

Excerpts from the Maplewood Falls, Vermont Town Day Recipe Contest Winners

Submitted to Contest #306

1911 – Mrs. Edith TempletonMaple Apple Brown BettyExcerpt from the Maplewood Broadside, October 1911:“It was with great pleasure that the Ladies’ Committee awarded first prize in the inaugural Town Day Cookery Contest to Mrs. Edith Templeton of Church Street. Her Brown Betty, humble in ingredients but noble in flavor, warmed the hearts of all who partook. It is said the Reverend himself returned for seconds.”Recipe:Ingredients:4 tart apples¼ cup brown sugar1 teaspoon cinnamonA pinch of nutmegA scrape of lemon peel6 slices of stale bread4 ta...

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Ancient Hebrew Advice Column

Submitted to Contest #306

Ancient Hebrew Advice Column ~Canaan Chronicle Archives (English Translation) Selections from Gabriel’s “Dear Gabby” Column Canaan Chronicle – c.1947 BC – Dear Gabby, Some time ago the Lord told me that my wife, Sarai, would be with child and I would become the “father of many.” What a shock! Sarai split her sides laughing, because we were both well beyond child-bearing years and the chances of our having a child were slim to none. We wondered if it were possible for a childless couple in their 60’s and 70’s to become paren...

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Claude gets out

Submitted to Contest #305

Claude left the meeting with the Barone brothers with a sense of cautious relief, he wanted to get Daisy out of town before the next conversation with Lenny Barone. He was done. He hurried back to his apartment to meet Daisy. He walked into the apartment and saw his girl lounging on the couch, reading a magazine and eating an apple. “What are you up to?”“I’m resting for a while then I’ll be getting ready to go to the club this evening. Joe's got a whole band for this weekend, with that new singer I can’t remember the name of.” “I would re...

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The Honest lies of a Secret Service Agent

Submitted to Contest #305

I take a wide step forward until my toes hit the black duct-taped X in the center of the stage and inhale a silent breath. My audience is a conglomeration of artificial white light and though I’m a old man now I still pretend they’re test dummies devoid of judgement and internal snark, but I know they’re there seated quietly, as we all anticipate my talk I titled “Open Books know better” at the prestigious Stupivard University. A buddy professor of mine personally referred me to the board of trustees. He probably told them, “I have this guy ...

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Mark

Submitted to Contest #306

Mark27.1 The sun was upset that day. It was difficult for the rest of the solar system to understand why. In general, the sun was a closed-mouth entity. He wasn't one to talk about his feelings or share the comings and goings of his mind. Being the center of everything, it was easy to sense that he was bothered by something. But they weren't about to ask what. If they could have seen into the sun without going blind, they might have realized that he was unhappy with the events on the third planet. A handful of humans were traipsing about in ...

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I Did Not No

Submitted to Contest #306

I Did Not No July 15, 1848...............................7 o'clock in the morning Ma told me to write a dairy. Keep a dairy she said. She also wants me to S P E L L right but this dairy won’t be prefect. I haven’t had schooling in over a year because of all this trouble. And you know why I don’t care about spelling? Because nothing around here is prefect and nothing is forever. July 15, 1848..............................11 o'clock still in the morning 11 o’clock means lunch. But there will be no lunch or brekfast. Her...

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Baptized in Mud

Submitted to Contest #305

THE WATER WAS SHALLOW, but it felt like he’d landed on bedrock. Mud sucked at his shirt. His hat was gone, and somewhere upstream, a longhorn was bellowing like damnation itself. The herd kept churning through the narrow ford, hooves pounding the riverbed, flinging water and muck and everything else the beeves left behind. He’d landed hard on his right side, felt something crunch, and now sat half-submerged in the churned-up mess, one hand clutched at his ribs, and the other was too slick with filth to push himself upright.The sun, high and ...

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The Ghost In Me

Submitted to Contest #305

At the intersection of Wellworth and Glendon, I could go right and head home – but turning left would take me to her. It would have been her 80th birthday, today. I found myself wandering around a pristine cemetery, and felt something pulling at my feet, guiding them to the cemetery’s mausoleums. There she was, Marilyn Monroe, with kiss prints surrounding her name. I dropped to my knees, tears and sobs overwhelmed me as I sat shaking on the ground. I could barely touch her finely etched name, but when I did I felt a surge of something almos...

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The Weight of Peace

Submitted to Contest #305

The night smelled of burnt earth and gunpowder when Dan Hicks said, "You know what? I quit." But that came later, after the world had torn itself apart one more time.The trenches stretched like infected wounds across the landscape, carved deep into ground that had forgotten what grass looked like. Dan pressed his back against the muddy wall, feeling the vibrations of distant artillery through his spine. Each explosion sent tremors through the earth, through his bones, through what remained of his sanity."Christ, Danny," Jamie whispered besid...

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Lyle gets an agent

Submitted to Contest #304

Lyle was Restless he sat at the table with paper and pencils and pins scattered across it. He reached for his phone, once again he came back with a silver plated pocket watch. He liked the watch, but he couldn’t google “how to fill a fountain pen” on it. He wondered if he would ever get used to not having the world at his fingertips. “When will ballpoint pens be invented?” He addressed a stack of wooden pencils and pencil sharpener; picked up a pencil and began to writeOctober 24, 1922I arrived suddenly in 1922 from 2023. I entered the Witne...

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Future Unwritten

Submitted to Contest #304

He awoke slowly that day. One of the few times in the last four years. The fog in his brain, parting just enough for consciousness to percolate in like a cup of coffee. As it dripped and dropped him back to the realm of the living, pain was close behind.His head pounded like an artillery piece as he wrestled his eyes open. The ceiling light blinded him, adding to his discomfort. With his senses now being kicked back into working order, now that his eyes were temporarily disabled, he could feel the cold stone beneath him. It was surprisingly ...

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Fiction Writers' conferences: Night School

Submitted to Contest #304

WC: 1,314 Fiction Writers’ Conferences: Night School Well, welcome to the first writers’ conference of the semester, Mr. er Impalovich. Sir, that’s Impa LOW vich. Quite an unusual name for around here. Yes, Professor Redd. Accent on the penultimate syllable. The “low’ means illegitimate, like, say, oh apostrophe in Irish. Just call me Eric. Sounds East European. Yes, Professor Eric. Romanian to be exact, and I go way back. No, it’s just Eric. We can dispense with titles here, Mr. ImpaLOWvich. My theory is when you sit around the w...

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Ascension

Submitted to Contest #304

Includes depictions of physical violence and suicide.They call her Witch.Not for her magic, but for her wretchedness. And so she knew the witching hour, but often wished somebody would tell her what haunts it, because it can be a struggle to define whether she is the haunter or the haunted. Under skies that char black by the heat of the day, its darkest minutes are when she can weep for her creativity. Yet even through her tears, half-formed ideas still flicker through the bleak sea of her blank eyes. And there was her terror, and there was ...

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Where the Spirit Horses Drink

Submitted to Contest #305

Where The Spirit Horses Drink By Johanna Lor Rain Parry ---- this story is based on true events, and real experiences. It includes historical trauma from indigenous genocide. She could hear them drumming for those praying in the lodge...the heart-beat rhythm reminding her of the thousands of tears that drip slowly into the red earth from the eyes of those who have seen too much. A trail of prayers trickled upward from the fire in front of the sweat lodge. The swirling smoke spiraled, threadlike towards the sky. Life had always been hard in ...

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What Occurred At Haukstrǫnd House On An Autumn Afternoon—1865

Submitted to Contest #304

Mister Jonas Harkstreader set the pages of the manuscript down on his desk. He exhaled a deep, exasperated breath. “Mister Groschinger—or Herr Groschinger, if you prefer. This...this cat is going to take the little girl to the Moon, of all places—on a pirate ship, of all things? Are you even aware that the Moon is a quarter of a million miles from the Earth? Moreover, there is no wind to blow the sails, on account of there being no air in those rarefied regions!” He knew that Kyric Groschinger hailed from one of the states of Germany, but wh...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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