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4820+ Speculative Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Looking to explore terrains beyond Earth and stretch the limits of your imagination? Welcome to the Internet’s best source of speculative fiction stories.

Speculative Short Stories – Page 311 of 322

The Garden

Submitted to Contest #64

The sun disappeared below the trees on the horizon and twilight approached quickly. The lone traveler, dressed in a sleeveless leather tunic over a linen shirt and breeches, quickened his pace. He could feel the temperature dropping and a cold autumn breeze was whispering through the trees. His pack grew heavy after a long day's travel and he needed to rest. The short sword sheathed at his waist slapped against his thigh as his brisk walk became a desperate jog. Edwin had seen a plume of smoke just over the next hill and he prayed to the ...

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The Lord and my Lady

Submitted to Contest #64

Woods all around. They stretched as far as any eye could see. Nothing existed beyond or within these woods, nothing good that is. Deep within the heart of the woods lived a Lord of sorts. He once commanded the little village that lay surrounding his manoir. These days the Lord had little to command but his home. For a time he paced along his dark dusty hallways leaving only a trail, where his feet shuffled passed. Ghost-like, he made no noise walking from room to room as if to check on his guests, of course there was none to be found. &...

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Am I an 11 year old ghost, or a 5 month old ghost? I haven't been here long

Submitted to Contest #65

I've heard stories that my older brother (and only sibling) believed everyone got to go door to door to ask "Trick or Treat" and receive a bounty of various candies...because it was his birthday. He told me that he actually believed it for many, many more years than he cares to admit. Our parents encouraged it. Our parents are very funny - and kids get candy just because it's my brother's birthday.My name is Dexter, Dex, Duders, The Boy, the name my Ancestors gave me, and more. Although, now I know when I'm being spoken to, ev...

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Strange Happenings

Submitted to Contest #64

Her eyes glanced over the spines until she found her favorite book and grabbed it. It was a fantasy book and even though she had read it a thousand times, she always found herself coming back to it. At this point, she probably didn’t even have to open it and read, she could recite it. She knew every scene by heart, from the battles with giant spiders and other monsters to the sweet romance that springs up between the main characters. Sometimes she wishes it was like that for her, but it wasn’t and here she was still waiting. Maya carried th...

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Dad's Truth Tale

Submitted to Contest #64

DAD’S TRUTH TALE  By Tyler Miclean  My name is Durston Dursy Everett. My daddy, when he was alive, used to tell me this story as a kid. He didn’t just tell it to me the one time. He told it more often than any other story, and he told at least one or two most nights before I went to sleep. It was never exactly the same. He’d change bits of it here and there, points of view, locations, small details, but the end never really changed. One time, I asked him what it meant. All he would say is that a man’s gotta face the truth, eve...

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Give Them a Voice

Submitted to Contest #64

“It’s definitely authentic,” I said, trying to stoke the fires of enthusiasm in my voice. I’m pretty sure I failed.“Are you sure?” Mason Dearborn asked. He squinted slightly in my direction, probably scrutinizing my lack of excitement. He wouldn’t be the first to question my hollow emotions. Ever since coming home from ‘Nam, I’ve felt like a lifeless shell moved along by the strings of life’s responsibilities.“Yes, Mr. Dearborn,” I said. “It’s a genuine nine millimeter German Luger manufactured between 1930 and 1942. The fakes are usually mi...

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Moor Liath

Submitted to Contest #64

In yellow rubber boots sausaged thick with mud, Aileen walked over the moor. Cautious as a lamb – two spindly legs, two biscuity knees, downy hair and pale skin yarned with blue veins – she stepped around pockets of soft peat: miniature bogs that would suck her down and keep her, holding her prisoner among the bracken and the moss. She had always felt safe on the moors. Her baby-bird coloring and gauzy heart were amulets against misplacement. As she walked she watched her feet; when she looked up it was to assess the topography of her chil...

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After Death Regrets

Submitted to Contest #64

“Legend has it there’s a ghost that sits on the swing hanging from the tree by the little stream in our very own city park,” an old woman began to tell her grandchildren. “They say he sits there and drags his feet in the water and mutters to himself. Many of those who claim to see him say he smiles at them when he turns to face them.” She smiled to herself, traveling down memory lane. “However none of the witnesses can say what kind of smile it is, or the intentions behind it. Whether it's….” “... a kind smile or an evil grin, we’ll ne...

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The Late Night Nurse

Submitted to Contest #64

My footsteps are as quiet as the night around me as I move through the house. The stairs, which have creaked under the feet of others for centuries, do not creak under mine. I do not rustle the carpet as I pass the room where the mother and father lie in an anxious half sleep. As though sensing my presence, the mother mumbles something but doesn’t wake. I haven’t been in this house in many years, not since I visited the old man, but I remember it well. Besides, I don’t have any trouble finding my way in the dark.&nbs...

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The boarding school of Henry

Submitted to Contest #64

Henry Greene was a calm and serene teenager. It was his passion to stroll in the garden next to his house and sketch out the beautiful scenes of plants and animals interacting in nature while listening to Mozart. It would be perhaps wrong to conclude then that he was an introvert, as he enjoyed playing too with his friends in the evening. But he was different from others in that he was a kind of boy whose likes and dislikes were rarely influenced by friend-inflicted-prejudices, so he was able to enjoy many of the things which his friends and...

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A Centuries-Old Facade

Submitted to Contest #64

Rhiannon“Mama, Mama!” the little girl says. Her dark curls pile over her chubby toddler cheeks, splaying over her mother’s chest. “Tell me Nana’s story, please?”“Rhi, I’ve told you that one so many times,” her mother replies wearily. “Don’t you want to hear something else?”“No, Mama,” the little girl insists, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout. “Nana’s story is the coolest! Please, Mama!”“Oh, alright,” comes the reply. “Let’s take you to bed first, mm-kay?”“Okay!” Rhi’s enthusiastic response is choreographed with hops, twirls, and spins u...

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Submarine Academy

Submitted to Contest #64

My mother helped me pack my luggage. Good thing it wasn't a big trunk or it would've been too heavy for us to carry out to the minivan.“But why does it have to be a boarding school?” I asked. “Why can't I just stay here at home and go to the public high school? Wouldn't it be cheaper?”“Your father and I went to a boarding school, Shui,” my mother said. “The same one you're going to. The Cousteau Society Boarding School.”“You both did?” I asked.She nodded. “And it was a good experience. We made friends and learned things that we probably woul...

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The Last Bronte

Submitted to Contest #64

The Last Bronte The bus took me to Haworth, my dream destination for decades, ever since I read Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. How could sisters, sheltered and disconnected from much of society, create books of such passion and darkness? As we pulled up to the Bronte Parsonage Museum, I glimpsed the Brontes’ beloved moors. I didn’t know my companions on this excursion. It was a side trip on my tour. I couldn’t miss this chance to see where the Brontes created their masterpieces and lived out their lives. Adjacent to the parsonag...

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Mrs. Sallow

Submitted to Contest #64

  I remember when Mrs. Sallow welcomed me into her home with a pleasant smile, but no words. She sat me down at her lavish dining table with an expression that had hardened behind her smiling eyes.       I have nothing against Mrs. Sallow anymore, I tell my brother. Mrs. Sallow is a splendid mother. Mrs. Sallow is simply wonderful. I am forever grateful to Mrs. Sallow.       Today is the first snowy day of winter. I looked out my window wistfully earlier this morning, ...

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The Emperor of Our Nation

Submitted to Contest #64

“Jack, can you imagine if we had Twitter in our day?”“I know, Bobby. The civil rights movement would have happened a lot faster.”“What about in your day, Abe?”“I dare say, young Bobby, the war could have gone very differently.”Jim and Billy entered the room, our favourite to get together and spook the staff when they worked late for the sitting president. “I wonder how many conspiracy theories would have surfaced if we had Twitter back in our day,” said Jim, referring to the stories about my brother’s murder.“He, he. Fake news!” It was Billy...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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