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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 5 of 10

Jagodowa Czerwień

Submitted to Contest #309

TW: BloodSeptember 1st, 1939Zbąszynek, Poland Even on a day when war loomed on the horizon, all I could think about were raspberries. Morning sunlight filtered through the partially open window of the kitchen as I leaned against the table, rocking on my heels and watching the cellar door. The house was quiet except for the noise of Ciocia Joasia rummaging through the stuff in the cellar and the isolated song of a bird in the beech tree outside. “Here it is!” Ciocia Joasia exclaimed from inside the cellar before closing the door and bounding ...

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The life and feats of the knight Josephine—dedicated to Selvatrice, esquired by she, published in anonymity

Submitted to Contest #309

Desidora sleeps in her gambeson. Skin hugging close to her bones, she reckons herself already dead, each breath she draws a promise to she of damnatio memoriae, whose scent fades from the gambeson each day, replaced by Desidora’s own. But what can she do? She cannot sleep without the thing wrapped around her skeletal frame, and she cannot eat those tasteless meals without knowing she has the gambeson to return to each night. In her paranoia, she checks on the article of clothing, wedged under her straw mattress, every afternoon between her d...

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Jenny

Submitted to Contest #309

The air in Haight-Ashbury vibrated with a thousand conversations, a symphony of strummed guitars, and the scent of patchouli and freedom. Jenny McCormick, her long, dirty blonde hair catching the afternoon sun, leaned against a weathered storefront, sketching in her notebook. Suddenly, a young man with eyes the color of a summer sky and a mop of unruly dark hair bumped into her, scattering her charcoal pencils. "Whoa, sorry!" he exclaimed, a grin splitting his face. "Heath's the name." "Jenny," she replied, laughing at the slight chaos. He h...

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Happy Birthday Uncle Willy

Submitted to Contest #309

Uncle Willy walked down the rows of large cooking pots and giant skillets, some of them over wood fires, and some over gas burners, all emitting mouth watering aromas. “Get your fingers back, old man” Uncle Willy grinned into the laughing face of a middle aged woman holding a steaming platter.“If you didn’t hide the forks . . .” The woman handed him a fork with a piece of fried catfish on it. The man on the platform raised one white gloved hand above his head, and tapped the mic with the other. The crowd slowly quieted. “Now I present ...

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Eleanor

Submitted to Contest #309

It was slowly turning to winter, slowly turning to twilight, and Eleanor Graves was slowly being eaten alive.Her white fingers clenched at a battered June 1955 edition of the Australian Women’s Weekly, her eyes skimming over the same line that it had for the past hour. The twins sat at her feet whinging again, a haze of white noise; they would argue about anything if for the sole reason of annoying her. It was funny how much they took after her husband’s two great-aunts in that way. Charles Jr. was drawing with a stick in the mud again. Char...

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A Saving Cup

Submitted to Contest #309

A Saving CupSimon and his new brothers landed in Egypt after enduring bad weather and abuse from the crew of the ship. The crowd at the dock looked at them suspiciously. Simon steered them to the far end of the pier to wait while he helped the crew unload the cargo. Eli, the youngest of the group, pitched in to help, and the captain complained when he paid him a small wage. But that gave them a bit of money to travel until they found other Christians to help them while they spread the good news.The captain looked at Simon and asked, “Why ...

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Anthony's Brew

Submitted to Contest #309

The snow came down like it meant something. Thick flakes spun under the streetlamps, catching in the cracks of brick facades and swirling down Allen Street in soft, bitter spirals. Most of the shops had long since closed. The galleries were dark, the cafés shuttered, and the tattoo parlor on the corner had its neon flickering like a heartbeat trying to quit.But halfway down the block, beneath a rusted iron sign that read Anthony’s Brew, a single window glowed gold.Inside, the bar smelled of cinnamon, molasses, and old oak. The kind of scent ...

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TOSTIG'S REVENGE

Submitted to Contest #309

Note: This story is fiction, but based upon real historical events. Tostig Godwinson, the man who had been Earl of Northumbria, one of the most powerful men in England, lay dying on the battlefield, his household troops slaughtered around him. The battle still raged, but he knew the day was lost. His thoughts fled back to what led him to this. Regret for his shattered plans, for his sins which would now never be forgiven, because he would die unshriven with them heavy on his conscience. How had it all gone so wrong?‘Pride, my son,’ the Arch...

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Centurion

Submitted to Contest #309

Firelight glinted from the pommel of Marius’s sword, and he wondered how something so polished, could feel so dirty. He gripped the wooden handle, that he had also cleaned to a shine, and pinned the tip of its blade into the sand. A place it could do no more harm. His Gladius had survived every battle on the cursed trek through Arabia, and was beginning to show its tired age in the same way that he was. It had faded under the harsh sun, been abraded by the sand and was stained with gallons of blood that was wiped free, yet still remained to ...

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The Reflection

Submitted to Contest #309

The white walls pressed in, a sterile embrace that offered no comfort, only a stark, unwavering presence. My finger traced the faint, almost invisible seam where two panels met, a ghost against the unyielding surface. Six feet by eight feet—this was my world. A bed, a sink, a toilet, a shower—all bolted down, all gleaming, all devoid of personality. No pictures to gaze at, no books to escape into. Just the relentless, unyielding white. I shuffled towards the mirror, a smooth rectangle of polished steel. It wasn’t glass, I knew that. They wou...

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Exile of Argus MacGuire

Submitted to Contest #309

“Take one more step and I’ll blow ya to Kingdom come.” A red-bearded man dressed in a kilt with blue tartar held a musket aimed at some discarded crates a few feet from where I had landed my skiff. Using an eighteen-horse powered outboard motor, I navigated the choppy waters from the port of Tagharry to this unnamed jutting pile of rocks a few kilometers west of Deasker Island in the northern Atlantic Ocean.Standing with my hands in the air, not daring to move a muscle, the large man spoke again, “Don; t’ink I won’ pull the triggah. The be...

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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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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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