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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 2 of 10

Damnatio Memoriae, or the Unfortunate Persistence of Memory

Submitted to Contest #314

“Et te, Catilina, minaci pendentem scopulo Furiarumque ora trementem…”And there you are, Catilina, hanging onto a threatening cliff and shuddering before the Furies…Virgil, Aeneid 8.668-669Yes, here I am, hanging onto a threatening cliff and shuddering before the faces of the Furies—Catilina. Or Catiline. I prefer the former; the latter sounds too Anglicized, too crass, too vulgar and vernacular. I suppose I prefer either of them over the dreaded “Cataline,” a misnomer which some are wont to use. But oh well, I throw up my hands; or I would,...

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The Boy & The Dog

Submitted to Contest #314

All of his big brothers and sisters whined and cried at the rising heat of summer. They no longer sprinted through the gardens and courtyards, now sitting agitated and uncomfortable in the shade of the alcoves. So uncomfortable were some that they sat in silence fidgeting with well-worn toys, snapping at any daring sibling who dare approach them in this forsaken heat. But not him. He waited, sweating and burning beneath the sun, for his best friend to come back. It was the fourth day he had waited patiently on the steps bordering his father'...

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The Never Queen

Submitted to Contest #314

One Summer’s day, when the city was a smouldering inferno of superheated alleyways, scorching brickwork, blinding glass, wilting people, she fled, not to the burning wildfires of the country, the charred destruction of centuries-old woodland lost in minutes, but to the basement, the blessedly cool, dark, silent room that few knew and fewer visited. The light buzzed annoyingly, but she could live with that. The heat it gave off irritated her, but not enough to worry about. She wandered through the aisles, through ages of history piled and sor...

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Forgive Me, Yaakov.

Submitted to Contest #314

(This story may contain sensitive content that includes historic times, such as war and trauma. I have done my best to write with respect and care.) Write a story that includes the line ‘I can’t sleep...’ Careless echoes from the past. Dreams that haunt me still. Eyes that quiver and beg for rest – yet my mind denies, time and time again.I can’t sleep. The air – cold and seducing. The bed, stood near the corner, its alluring gaze gawking at me. I was a victim to my attempts of sleep – but to no avail did I succeed. It was consider...

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Culinary Deviant

Submitted to Contest #313

The door to the manor’s third floor private chamber creaked as it opened, revealing a frail silhouette lit by the soft glow of beeswax candlelight. Alice Read crept through the unoccupied room and awoke the dormant hearth. Sweat glistened off the young girl's tired face as she sat at the foot of the large oak bedframe to catch her breath and calm her nerves in front of the growing fire. Though Alice was many moons away from womanhood, a life of poverty and servitude had robbed her of her youth. Her hardened face had long abandoned its he...

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Death of a Warrior

Submitted to Contest #313

“Are you there, God? It’s me… sorry for the mess.” Michael’s folded hands trembled. “I-I can’t seem to let go of it. Even here, I can’t.” He croaked, the tears burning the infected cuts on his cheeks as they slid down into his unkempt beard. “I’m trying, God. I’m trying so hard, but I can’t. I can’t… I thought I was made for this. I thought that’s why you sent them to me. Why I had those dreams. Why you gave me this strength. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.” Michael’s chest shuttered before he cried out— “Why!” His voice cracked like a whi...

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Progeny

Submitted to Contest #313

July 28th, 1872My house becomes emptier with each month, it seems. We are now five where we once were twelve, and I suspect by winter's end we shall be fewer still. I suppose it's because of the suffocating nature of the house. It is draining just to be inside, surrounded by the dark wood and darker history. I had seen pictures from my family's past, and the bright smiles on the faces of those captured within, but such expressions were absent in all my time here. And so it is of little surprise to me that my family is leaving, one by one.I s...

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The Widow's Garden

Submitted to Contest #313

The April sun cast shadows across the gravel path as Amelia Altham adjusted the black silk of her mourning dress. Three days had passed since they had lowered Henry into the cold earth of the family plot, yet the estate gardens bloomed with an almost offensive vitality. Daffodils nodded in the gentle breeze, their golden faces turned toward a sky that seemed too blue for grief. She had not sought this walk, but Cecilia had appeared at the morning door with that particular expression of duty Amelia had come to recognize. "The air will do us b...

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Ghost

Submitted to Contest #313

It was supposed to be so simple, if an escape in the dead of night can be called simple. We knew there would be rumors and wild speculation – in fact, we counted upon it – but never in a thousand lifetimes could we have guessed that our story would become legend, and that the legend would be so far from the truth. The ship was said to be unlucky, everyone knew that. A change of name and a fresh coat of paint couldn't do away with whatever malevolent spirit seemed to haunt her. She had collided with and sunk another ship in London, she had ru...

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The hottest summer days…Midsummer’s Whisper

Submitted to Contest #314

Midsummer’s WhisperIt was the hottest day of the year… Even the wind had stopped moving, like it couldn’t bear the weight of the sun. Air shimmered above cracked paths, and shrines held their breath beneath soot-stained trees. The sky had curled into a brass dome, and mortals trudged beneath it like forgotten prayers—slow, quiet, too tender to break. For ten years, I had slept beneath the stone fox statue nestled in the hillside shrine. Kitsune like me don’t count time the way humans do. Our clocks are made of emotion, of memory, of grief we...

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CONFESSION

Submitted to Contest #313

CONFESSION “Are you there, God? It’s me.” Those were the opening words of a letter written during a lull in a major battle in World War II. The soldier had just turned eighteen and wrote this under extreme duress, knowing he may only have a few hours to live. Yet, the penmanship was perfect, the writing arrow straight, but the attitude was one of defiance, realization, and acceptance. I am restoring this letter, which has been covered in years of dirt and grime, so it can be read and framed, but there are other watermarks and stains that I ...

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The Battle of Maldon, August 991 CE

Submitted to Contest #313

(Warning: this story contains physical violence appropriate to the historical period) The pain was intense but only for a moment. My blade swept my foe’s spear aside at the last moment. Mighty Odin had saved me again and granted me the victory, my enemy’s body laid out at my feet. I shook my head to clear his blood from my eyes.All around me, Saxon bodies lay strewn on the earth. Their foolish lord, what was his name? Byrthnoth, or some such unpronounceable Saxon name. Olaf Trygvasson had led our fleet to this small isle where we planned our...

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Dreams That Never Happened: A Memory Of Mary

Submitted to Contest #313

Thunder rolled across Houston’s gray sky. In a small room at an old age home, an elderly woman stared out the window, her brown, droopy eyes filled with warmth. Her fingers were interlaced, lips curled into a smile as she whispered a name only she remembered.---1865 The sun scorched the Hurst plantation. Weeds thrived, hunger loomed, yet the slaves sang — not for joy, but to keep hope breathing. The same woman, now young, stood by a tall maize crop. She had golden-brown eyes and curly hair that clung to her damp skin. She led the song. She s...

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The Road Not Taken

Submitted to Contest #313

Jennings looks at the boy and guesses his age to be about 16, possibly 17, it was harder and harder these days to get a somewhat accurate idea of the ages of the people he sees. Last week he had seen a woman that at first glance had believed to be in her forties. However after delivering the message, an outspoken woman in his church, Mrs. Howard, had come up introducing her niece, visiting for a couple of weeks from Oklahoma. Her name had been Joan or Jean, or some such name, it wasn't the name that had stuck with him it was the fact that sh...

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The Scent of Hemlock

Submitted to Contest #313

The scent came first. Sharp. Green. Like pine needles crushed between fingertips but bitterer, like something not meant to be touched, let alone consumed. Hemlock.Aislin knew it instantly. It was in her blood—like grief, like warning. The hemlock bloomed in the hollows behind their croft, but no one had dared harvest it since the last frost. Not since Father disappeared with the sound of hooves behind him and a rope in a magistrate’s hand.She pushed open the warped wooden door of the croft, wind lashing her curls into her face, and the scent...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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