Short Stories

Thrice and Once – Another Three Short and Unsettling Tales

Three stories, each 250 words, each (at least a little) unsettling. I hope you have a… pleasant time reading.


I enjoyed the last triptych of stories so much I thought I would do the same again. Three stories, each 250 words, each (at least a little) unsettling. I hope you have a… pleasant time reading.

By the way, my first three short story collation can be found here:

Fatal Entrance

You, you taking part in this story. This is a warning. One that I must give to you. If you hear the sound of the dry wind. The sound of the rattling of something as you begin to fall asleep. Do not be fooled there is something potentially deadly. It is the sound of dry coffins and leathery fingers trying to escape the confines of wood and soil. Once upon a time I was part of the world of light and warmth and I played my part upon the stage.

How is it then you hear me? I am now part of the Great Majority. Well, was part of it, they have shunned me, and I have found you, the only receptive vessel out of the some seven billion of you on the face of this world.

I have such sights to show you. To make you learn and revel in. I know you would like to know more I will lead the way if you simply follow.

I have such sights to show you. To make you learn and revel in. I know you would like to know more I will lead the way if you simply follow.

That noise, oh do not worry about that, I forgot what that was supposed to mean. I have waited for so long. No just sleep now, I will watch over you, watch and wait and bide my time.

Oh, I cannot go away now, I have latched onto something within you, I will wait. Do not worry soon we can share all. It will be so exciting to go forth into the world again, albeit in a slightly different form. Sweet dreams.

Be the Serpent Underneath

The news ran little April was missing, the only notable thing apart from adorable photographs was her Heterochromia, left blue right brown. People searched for her. Looking in the conceivable and inconceivable places. There was a desperation to find her before what the police called the golden something ran out.

Parents were in bits, crying and clutching at their two remaining children. The media shot them, people talked in hushed tones to their own families, coming up with theories as to what happened.

Sheriff Stewards walked purposefully towards one of the darker parts of town. One where few people went, it had been an old industrial unit of some description. The sun beat down leaving sharp crisp shadows. “Are you receiving?” asking for the third time, still crackling nonsense in return. Must be interference from something. He was not sure what had brought him down here. It was one of those gut feelings.

He glanced down seeing red trails in the dust. He drew a gun and moved towards the door. He did not have time to wait. It opened with very little pressure, air flooded out, warm and putrid.

Was it his imagination or did he hear a small word, said by small lungs “help.” He rushed forward knowing he had to save her.

He did not notice the small feminine hand holding the sharp thing until he felt the bight of steel in his ankle, he fell, the final bite came down in a place altogether more vital.

Fair is Foul

Sid hated his job, surprising many. He hated it but was good at it and no matter how often he left it always called to him, the suffering that would go on without him. It was inhumane.

The phone rang. “Sid, can you come in, new boy keeps fucking up.” He grunted acquiescence and moved off the sofa, got his bag containing the tools of his trade.

Arriving minutes later, the smells assailed his nostrils. He mused to himself almost ploughing into one of the company lorries, sides vented empty of its cargo.

Sid prepped and got to the floor he saw the new lad, could not remember his name. The lad was pale and shaking. Sid could sense trouble, there was fresh vomit at the side of the lad’s mouth, the instrument impotent in his hand.

He looked woefully at Sid. Sid could see the problem, his mind calculated.

The cow, a ton of meat thrashing around, still alive and suffering. Instantly, Sid reached for a blade and cut its throat, blood and shit mixing the animal feeling no more pain. This was his trade.

The lad looked at him in relief, shaking. Sid put a hand on his shoulder. He felt sorry, invited him home for a chat and a drink.

At Sid’s house the lad perked up. Walking into the living room he stopped and pissed himself. Three other lads were there, none spoke, could speak.

Sid hated the inhumane treatment of animals. They would not suffer.

By magpiestories

An English teacher by trade, an author at heart, it only took a global pandemic for me to start writing my first novel. Along the way, I found a love for creating shorter fiction which I share on this site along with some updates and (hopefully) useful writing tips.

I hope you have a... pleasant time reading.

Leave a Reply