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Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of urban fantasy short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

1480+ Urban fantasy Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. From vampires at the bar to werewolves around the corner, our collection of urban fantasy stories will bring the magical into everyday life.

Urban fantasy Short Stories – Page 2 of 99

The Midnight Train

Submitted to Contest #293

I met my first love on the Midnight Train. I had been staring out the train window, watching the streaks of rain gleam as they hit the pane and the flash of shadows and trees and life beyond that I couldn’t quite see in the darkness, when I saw his reflection in the glass. Riding had been a last resort. My mother had insisted I marry the pig farmer twice my age who’d asked for my hand in exchange for a prize winning sow. Surely I was worth two? Instead of donning bridal white, I’d packed my meager possessions and waited at the train station ...

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The Road North

Submitted to Contest #293

She was aboard. Paladins of the Blue Lotus Society had examined everyone who boarded in first and second class, and she had wondered if she'd be able to board undetected. But they had waved third class through. Their southern minds couldn't comprehend an aristocrat who would hide among commoners; or perhaps one of them was a sympathizer.There was plenty to sympathize with. A hundred years ago, just as the industrial revolution was beginning, the kingdom of Palanelé had been overrun by its old enemies, the Iraden nomads. Her great-grandparent...

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A vow of Justice

Submitted to Contest #293

A Vow of Justice   by L. Laurence  The first thing I knew was the wind. It roared past my ears, a deafening rush of air that sent it’s icy fingers clawing through my hair. The second thing I knew was pain, an aching throb at the top of my skull, like something inside of my head had been smashed apart. And then, I opened my eyes. The world tilted. No, I was tilting. Falling. Or flying?  My breath hitched as I registered the figure holding me. His face was unreadable, his grip iron-tight against my body, almost bruising. Conside...

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A Rose Is A Rose, With Or Without A Prince

Submitted to Contest #293

Florence Wiseht reclined into the sumptuous leather seat of the private jet as the engines roared to life, heralding the start of her odyssey. Beyond the window, the golden rays of the setting sun sprawled across the airport tarmac like a warm embrace. While the world bustled around her, Florence remained in her own serene bubble, lost in contemplation, her fingers gently caressing the dog-eared copy of The Little Prince that lay on the tray table. The book, tattered from years of companionship, had been her steadfast anchor since childhood....

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Reflections

Submitted to Contest #293

When Janice was a child she loved chasing crabs on the rocky side of the small island town of Nahant. Catching one wasn’t the point. The fun was in the chase. After a half an hour or so of that, she’d sit on a rock and stare across the bay at the skyline of Boston.  When she was younger it was mostly dominated by older brick and stone structures such as Faneuil Hall, the Old State House, Bunker Hill Monument and the steeple of the Old North Church where Paul Revere waited for the lamps to signal, ‘one if by land, two if by sea’ so ...

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Trapped

Submitted to Contest #293

He is sitting in a carriage, jostled by every irregularity on the dirt road, the rhythmic clip-clop of horse hooves from up ahead drowning out the birdsong endemic to the woodland landscape surrounding him. The air is heavy with moisture, and every inhalation he takes carries a trace of the muskiness worn into the leather seats by countless passengers who’ve ridden this ferry from town to nowhere. Beads of sweat dot his face and the faces of the other two passengers sitting across from him, despite the breeze passing through the open sides o...

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The Late Doctor Drell

Submitted to Contest #293

It was a beautiful day.  Fall was just beginning, so the temperature was dropping, but the sun was out.  It must have been around 60 degrees with the wind blowing, and even cooler in the shade.  We were all gathered together into the great church.  There were a hundred of us at least, each wearing the finest clothes we had for the occasion.  Hushed discussions about the past and sniffles were the only sounds heard, besides the shuffling of those still making their way to their spots in the pews.  The closed cask...

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Coffee & Cogs

Submitted to Contest #293

The scent of burnt coffee lingered in the air, twinned with the ever-present miasma of coal smoke and sweat. Miles wiped his brow with the corner of his apron and leaned against the counter of his tiny coffee stand, nestled between one of the roaring engine rooms and the rust-stained barracks of the Titania’s lower deck.  His stand wasn’t much - just a battered iron cart welded in place, with a sputtering boiler and a dented tin sign that read Miles’ Brews: Strong as Steel. It was the only place workers could get a cup of coffee before ...

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On the Platform

Submitted to Contest #293

Matthew had been waiting on the station platform for about half an hour, in the frigid night air. His jacket was done up to his neck, and his hands were buried fiercely in the fleece pockets for warmth. He thought back to what he had heard in the town.“If you don’t like this place, and you want to go somewhere else, there’s a train station just out of town.” The round-faced lady had said. “That’s where I’m going. I’ve had enough of this town. Nobody knows exactly what time the train is coming, so if you want to ...

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In Carrington, All That Matters is Red.

Submitted to Contest #292

Carrington. One of the oldest parts of Newcastle, itself one of the oldest cities in Australia, Carrington was always teeming with the comings and goings of the underclasses. The place the rich and wealthy never set foot. The place where the mighty cargo ships would dock, resupply, off-load and load up on all sorts of goods. Once wide streets for bullock trains had evolved into a maze of semi-permanent constructions housing all manner of cheap delights and depravity. An intricate web, designed and curated to ensnare the multitude of sailors ...

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Freedom

Submitted to Contest #293

‘I’m Late’ Harry thought as he hurriedly pulled on his work clothesHe hadn’t been at the foundry long and he knew they had strict starting and finishing times, each late clock-in or early clock-out resulted in docked pay. This felt draconian to Harry but ‘a jobs a job’, and at 25 with no formal education, this is where he’d found himself, ‘for now’ he thought.The foundry was a loud, hot, toxic place filled with despair, desperation and acrid stale smoke. The ventilators whirred and sucked out the majority of the worst air, but created a cons...

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The Midnight Melancholy

Submitted to Contest #292

That Saturday afternoon, the museum was bustling with activity as the visitors, both young and old, flocked to see the exhibit. Sara stood at the entrance of the Museum of Revolutionary Art, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her neat navy blue dress. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing around at the throngs of visitors who filled the gallery with chatter and laughter. Her heart raced as she spotted a group of enthusiastic children pointing excitedly at a nearby sculpture, their voices rising above the am...

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The Painter of Souls

Submitted to Contest #292

It was the first time in two years that the group of friends had reunited for this trip. After many cancellations and unfinished plans, everyone had made an effort to make this outing a reality.They hadn’t spoken much during the funeral two years ago, and it almost seemed as if their friendship would dissolve soon after. But through the video game chats they frequented, nostalgia and good memories rekindled the bonds that had weakened with the loss.They talked about how competitive Bennet had been in many of the games they played, how he wou...

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The Fading

Submitted to Contest #292

Natalie awoke to a world draining of pigment. The crimson sunrise that usually painted her bedroom wall had transmuted into a pale, anemic gray. She blinked, convinced her eyes were playing tricks—perhaps a storm had rolled in overnight, muting the dawn’s usual splendor. Yet when she reached for her phone, its once-vibrant screen glowed only in gradients of ash and charcoal. “What the hell?” she whispered, her voice strange and hollow in the muted space. The vermilion dress she’d laid out for today’s exhibition hung like a ghost on her close...

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The Stolen Strokes

Submitted to Contest #292

As a child, I wandered from bookstore to bookstore in search of a fragment of my heart within their stories. On a weekend, I find myself again strolling past the books stacked in the corner, all marred by dust. A dull ache weighed heavily on every heartbeat - it was as if it reflected my life, echoing a forgotten rhythm of love. I reached my hand toward the stacks of books, running my fingers along it when a rush of students pressed me against the dust-laden spines. Something beneath me shifted with a low creaking sound before I could regist...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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