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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

Smoke

Submitted to Contest #313

Smoke. It was a smell you could find in almost any country, city or even street. Smoke was heavy, unmistakable, a defining entity from everything it stood beside. It could envelop you, enter you, stand at a distance or rush at you like an avalanche. Smoke never spared anything either, and rather than resist it, the victims of smoke would weave their essence into the thick, black plumes and become a force all its' own. And though it seemed that smoke would leave eventually, it was never too far away. It would come back again, unleash its' hav...

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See you next Wednesday?

Submitted to Contest #313

The scent was overpowering. A pungent odor, sweet with the aroma of burnt toast and a hint of rotten eggs that was making her nearly nauseous. It was a particular smell that at first felt disgusting, but after smelling it more, it started feeling nice, a comforting odor: the smell of home, the smell of Edinburgh. Elspeth was in a rush; her small heels were clicking sharply with every step. She was questioning her choice to walk to the artist's home instead of catching a carriage. Her petticoat was getting all muddy, and her waistcoat was to...

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Eden's Little Helpers

Submitted to Contest #313

The knock was precise, insistent, yet strangely soft. It wasn’t the aggressive thud of a vacuum cleaner salesman, nor the tentative tap of a child selling cookies. This was the knock of quiet authority, of a man who knew he belonged on your porch, as if by invitation.Mrs. Henderson, a woman perpetually encased in her starched apron, her life a meticulous parade of predictable routines, peered through the peephole. A man stood there, impeccably dressed in a pristine white suit, a wide, beatific smile stretching across his face, radiating an a...

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The Closure of St. Jerome's Home for Foundlings

Submitted to Contest #313

1955 The whispers of gossip flowing from the other six girls in my work group (we're "learning to sew" by darning clothes) swirl around me, an eddy isolating me from the others as I pick out their individual words and voices from one another. Margaret and Bernadette are discussing the positive qualities of Marlon Brando. Elizabeth, who’d snuck into a showing of East of Eden, is going on (and on, and on) about James Dean. Veronica and Helen, though younger than I, keep commenting on the debate like dashes of seasoning, hoping that they are ad...

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Jack Macintosh: The Silent Harvest Conclusion

Submitted to Contest #313

“Are you there, God? It’s me… Jack.” The thought, half-prayer, half-sarcasm, didn’t quite escape my lips. My brain was firing on all cylinders, despite the .38 pressed against my temple. The afterimage of the flashbulb still swam in my vision, but the outlines of Sheriff Brody and Thorne’s enforcer were sharpening in the gloom. Brody, the bulldog, the man sworn to uphold the law, was poised to break it into a thousand pieces with my skull. The enforcer, a gaunt shadow with eyes that seemed to suck the light out of the air, held the gun. “Dro...

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Cocoa ceremony

Submitted to Contest #313

Sounds of chatter everywhere, insistent, like an itch that cannot be scratched away. Women, laughing with full mouth, teeth glistening in the sun, their large earrings softly jangling whenever they turn their head. Their hands are busy, but their eyes gleam with joy as they share their thoughts with their compatriots. Through the large window carvings the noises of the day are brought inside the large hall, filled with women of all social standing. The work is important. They are preparing cacahuatl, or cocoa, to later be consumed by Montez...

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The Schonberg Hoax

Submitted to Contest #313

Can someone disappear right before your eyes? Magicians and illusionists have sold us on this idea for centuries, but in the concrete world of investigation, this type of hocus-pocus is not considered feasible. When covert criminal activity is involved, there is always a victim and perpetrator. My professional instincts have usually prevailed or so I thought until a few years before I hung up my badge for good. Sitting on my front porch with my coffee in one hand and my book in the other, I enjoy the peace and solitude earned with forty yea...

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One Last Fight

Submitted to Contest #313

The spectators towering above me in the stands chanted with one voice, “Kill it!” The noise bounced off the walls of the arena and rang in my mind. A battle cry. A single command. Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! But a small voice in my head begged me to stop. The once-magnificent beast in front of me did not deserve to die. It squirmed in a pool of blood on the ground, its golden chest still rising weakly, defying its own end. I had seen the glassy haze clouding its eyes too many times to count. How very strange, I thought, that an animal and ...

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Horns of a ChatGPT Dilemma

Submitted to Contest #312

“Counsel, are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?” OK, so the judge didn’t say that. But clearly, he was thinking it. His big bushy brows were furrowed together like the cornrows he had plowed in his youth, and his big lips were pursed together. Thought was happening, and it was trying to come out through those tightly mashed lips. I couldn’t avoid seeing them, as there was a big bushy moustache just above the lips, and his face was mere inches from mine. Those grey eyes were trying to bore holes in my soul. I was trying to keep my soul from b...

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Crimson Harvest

Submitted to Contest #313

First, Thomas heard. His ears were filled with a high ringing. Other sounds clamored for his attention, but they frustrated him with their incomprehensibility. He found himself reminded of being a child, ears plugged up as he swam underwater, his siblings shouting and playing around him. The cacophony now crowding his ears warbled in a nightmarish parody of the voices of his long-ago playmates. Cutting through the racket a rhythm screeched – screak-screak, screak-screak –like fingernails on blackboard. Then there was pain. His entire body a...

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And I Must Become, After Infinity

Submitted to Contest #312

⚠️ Trigger WarningThe following text contains descriptions and allusions to:Psychological deteriorationRecursive violenceMemory-based tortureHeavily implied sexual traumaLoss of bodily autonomyExistential horrorSelf-erasure and identity collapseFractured perception of reality It is unclear whether the events you are about to read are fiction, hallucination, or something buried deeper. Author’s Note I read I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream because a friend handed it to me. Said his dad used to pass it around like contraband, like it wasn’t ...

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Wrestling Till Dawn

Submitted to Contest #312

Jun's fingernails scraped the tatami mat. He awoke with a start, the moonlight nearly piercing through the paper walls. His wife lay on her side, and his sons' chests heaved softly under the weight of each breath. Jun tiptoed into the adjoining room, treading carefully so as not to topple the table. On it, a half-full carafe of cold sake towered over three cups and a delicate wooden tray full of half-eaten pastries. Jun slid the shoji open and stepped out into the garden.Isao is here. I know it. He may not want to hear me out, but it's the o...

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When Memory Served

Submitted to Contest #311

One very memorable evening last May I went, upon invitation, to join a friend of mine at a family dinner. The year is not important but was a good while in the past, and the location a rather fine Georgian row house in Belgravia, London. Bedecked in my finest as per the detailed instructions imparted upon me by my friend, I picked my way through that borough’s gleaming whiteness until I was brought face to face with the man himself. “Good job turning up, won’t do you much good, but glad you came all the same. Might get some goo...

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Rabbits in the Water

Submitted to Contest #311

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mental Health, War Themes, Violence, Death, Physical Injury, Grief & Loss ##### I regret standing there for so long watching the river. There were rabbits in the water. Yes: rabbits. I could not tear my gaze from them, and so my mind saw what my eyes would not.There was a sky; a vast sky of pallid grey, blue, and black, and a shattered luminance to bare its lividity. Bright halos clung to celestial bodies when from behind rippling clouds they revealed broken faces. I looked to the stars and they blinked—I swore they bli...

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Jack Macintosh: The Silent Harvest

Submitted to Contest #312

Special Historical Note: This story is a work of fiction, but there really was an 1800s dispute between Cedar Falls and Waterloo (both in Iowa) over which town was the Black Hawk County seat. Waterloo residents carried out a “midnight raid” in the pre-dawn hours of March 6, 1855, stealing official county records and documents from the Cedar Falls courthouse—effectively shifting the county seat to Waterloo. In the end, Waterloo’s de-facto takeover of the county seat during the raid was subsequently ratified by the Iowa Legislature before the ...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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