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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 3 of 10

Waves of Deceit

Submitted to Contest #309

Botched from the start.“You go this way,” I said. “And I’ll go the other. You got that?”And with a flickered lip she nodded. Our eyes locked for eternity but hers left mine first. It was the first sign: of her desire, of weakness.We traipsed opposite ways down the station. I wore my smile before and after our rendezvous, before and after I received that saddle tan suitcase. I carried both of these with an air of pride that didn’t match my heart. The clicks of her mauve heels drifted further away, their echoes coming back to haunt me like the...

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The Music Box

Submitted to Contest #309

THE MUSIC BOX ED WOOTEN I heard music as I entered the room, but all that was there was a music box, and it was on the floor. I hurried to retrieve it.Whew, neither the lid nor the hinges were damaged. I knew the musical mechanism was intact due to its “greeting” when I entered the room.I didn’t need a detective to tell me “who dunnit”; heck, even Stevie Wonder could see the culprit.Going to the bedroom, I confronted the guilty party. He was curled on top of my pillow, looking oh-so-innocent. His beautiful green eyes seemed to say, “Welcome...

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Robert Johnson’s First Memories

Submitted to Contest #309

Robert Johnson’s First MemoriesA short story by James Snell Memphis, Tennessee, May 22, 1917 “Are you ready for school?” Sister Carrie asked. I didn’t understand why she asked me that question every morning. I was always ready. Ready and waiting. I loved Mrs. Hooks’ school. “‘Course I’m ready,” I said. I only have flashes of memory of things that happened before I started school. For me, my memories—life itself—started when I got to school. I don’t remember even walking there that first day or who walked with me. *** “You lucky to be going...

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My Dear Mary

Submitted to Contest #308

7 March, 1865 Dearest Mary, I am hoping this letter finds you in good health. At the expense of transparency, I cannot say where we have settled since our last correspondence. Letters from the top ordered all locations filed as top secret while we await our next move. Goddamn smugglin’ tactics. Our scouts reported messages containing false information been intercepted. The army moved southwest of our position, as the false notes suggested we would move at nightfall a fortnight last day. Some in camp have begun to wonder if the General h...

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To Emily

Submitted to Contest #309

My dearest Emily, Thank you so much for your letter. You will know by now that it takes quite a while for post to reach us here, so we always look forward to it most eagerly. Furthermore, I won’t deny that things here can be a trifle bleak at times, so I cannot overstate how much of a tonic it is to see your words on the page and to hear your voice in my mind as I read them. It never fails to bring me a renewed sense of vigour and cheerfulness. I'm always so glad to hear news from home, too. It hardly seems possible that Charlotte cou...

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SUMMER OF FORTY-FOUR

Submitted to Contest #308

SUMMER OF FORTY-FOUR The men sat on packing crates in the old barn. They were slowly going through boxes and steamer trunks stacked in a corner of the barn. The younger of the two was in his mid-thirties with still jet-black hair, blue eyes and a strong chin. The other man was stooped over from age and his thinning hair was snow white. He had the same strong chin. They’d just finished going through a steamer trunk that contained old quilts and bedding, placing it in box marked “Goodwill.” The younger man...

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Mark

Submitted to Contest #309

27.38 - 27.40I knew this would be our fate. Barbaras never lied to us. Our death was certain on the battlefield or up here on the crucifix.I don't want to die. I was willing to give my life for a cause until my life actually came in danger. I wish I had not followed him into that battle. I wish a sword had found me and not this awful thing. This is not a way for a man to die.I know we hang here as an example to others who might consider standing up to Rome, but I also think we are an inspiration. I don't mind being before them so that they a...

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Soulful mourning, sweet memories

Submitted to Contest #308

Soulful mourning I woke up cold and damp. I stood and stretched my already aching joints. My eyes squinted at the light streaming in through the arched entrance of my current dwelling. I stepped out of the cave to survey my surroundings, and it took only a few seconds to realise that I was completely lost. Don’t get me wrong, this was something that happened every lifetime. I died, was reborn, and this is when it takes me a while to work out who and what I am now.Do I die? I know in human terms I die, but then am I human? My soul has lived f...

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That Summer in Maritsa’s Shadow

Submitted to Contest #308

The old house still smelled of jasmine and soap. Decades had passed since its last occupants had left, yet every corner remained still, frozen in time, as if it were waiting. On the floor, beside the iron-framed bed, stood Maritsa’s chest. I opened it with hesitation—and love. There, beneath an embroidered kerchief, among yellowed notebooks and a bar of soap that had captured the scent of the past, I found the letter. And just like that, everything came rushing back. I was only nine years old when my parents left me in the village for a fe...

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Letters from the Summer I Never Returned

Submitted to Contest #308

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of war-related grief, displacement, and emotional trauma. A story of exile, memory, and quiet love The heat of this Californian summer is a dry, relentless thing, so different from the humid summers of my youth. It’s the kind of heat that stills the air and bakes the memories right out of the ground. On days like this, with the jasmine vine scenting the quiet afternoon, I find myself unlocking the desk drawer I haven’t opened in years. It’s full now—folded pages, ink faded to rust, envelopes with...

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Daymares

Submitted to Contest #308

This story contains wartime contents and may cause mental discomfort to extra sensitive individuals or combat veterans.It provides a raw glimpse of the horrors from similar past, current and future conflicts.This is for the few that lived experiences like this. You gentlemen have my greatest respect. The dream came back. The drugs I was given prevented me from moving in the real world but, in my dream: I was back there and moving as fast as I could.I was the last man left from the four-man stick. We had jumped in that night and made good ...

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A Pleasurable Duty

Submitted to Contest #308

The music in the ballroom soared to a crescendo before the intense melody faded into silence. The dancers bowed to one another and then drifted to the tables or bar, and conversation struck up again as the musicians took a break. Louis Stratton complemented his partner, a red-haired beauty, and returned to his table. Once there, he took a deep drink of lemonade and sighed as he placed the glass back on the table.“You look good out there,” a woman said behind him.Louis turned to see his mother, Regina, standing behind a chair.Louis shook his ...

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The Dockenmacher

Submitted to Contest #308

Nestled in the artisan district of downtown Clarksville, the “Bell Witch Doll Hospital” had several examples in their shop windows, with a black velvet curtain behind both them and the door, blocking the view within. A handcrafted sign, wood, hung on the inside of the door, at eye-level: “By Appointment Only.” The Bell Witch was a local urban legend, one that involved dolls that looked like a nightmare out of Toy Story. The figures in the window were well within the lines of that mythos: a mixture of plastic, cloth, bisque, and even carved w...

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In the Beginning

Submitted to Contest #308

Even before Georgia O’Keeffe passed away and I began to study her, her paintings showed up in my life, particularly back in my traveling days when I stopped at museums any time I was in a city of substance. I knew of her connection to the Texas Panhandle, too. So, I was sad when she passed.I attended a lecture at the museum in Canyon. A historian spoke who seemed to know everything about Georgia’s time in Texas—-back in the 1910s, when she was the art teacher at the fledgling teachers’ college. The stories were so vivid, it was almost as if ...

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Darling, Worm. You Promised.

Submitted to Contest #307

Darling, Worm. You Promised. His eyes were cold, like everything in this place. They were gray and placid and unmoving and they stared straight through Daniel. The mouth hung open in abject horror, face contorted in throbbing anguish, and hand still white-knuckled around a pistol that could no longer protect him. Daniel knew the stranger had died terrified and most definitely screaming. His body had been ripped in half by the land mine, though it hadn’t done the courtesy of killing him instantly. Part of Daniel felt sorry for the man. Part ...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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