250 word short story

Curse of the Sun

Sweat slips between my skin and the rubbery fabric of my coat, chafing all over. The sun is burning brands of every stitch into my skin. This polyester prison will only hold me for a little longer. Soon I’ll be free.

Walking into the park I see shaded eyes and shining smiles everywhere. Nothing brings the punters to the park like the sun in London. The excitement makes me taut against my bodily covering. I’m bursting to get out.

Sunglasses leave me uncertain whether anybody is following my progress. Some might question a man in a long coat on a hot day, but they’re more likely to dismiss me as a beggar or a leper. Not for much longer.

I slip from the grey of the path to the green of the grass.  Now it’s just a matter of finding the right spot. Snaking through chattering circles of bodies I see a spectrum of faces at different stages of sun and alcohol induced merriment. It’s finally my time to join them; the laid-back leisurely Londoners. It’s been so long.

Where all the footpaths converge, I stop. Here I’ll get the most sets of eyes on me, from the walkers and the sitters.

I’m primed. I grab two fistfuls of my coat. I look for a face. There: the old couple eating ice cream on the bench. I yell wordlessly straight at my target septuagenarians. Faces whip round at me. I pull my hands apart. The coat pops open.

I’m free.

Bathetic Bus Ride

She got on at Angel. He looked up from his book, catching sight of her as she stepped onto the top deck. He felt an immediate flush of attraction. This was exactly the kind of woman that Greg pictured himself with.

If she’d sat somewhere behind him it would have been over. She’d be out of his view, out of his life, only in his imagination for a while; soon replaced by another.

However, it just so happened that she sat right next to Greg. He should have returned to reading, but she pulled out her phone and he glimpsed what she was listening to. Did that say…?

Then she pulled out a book; one of Greg’s favourites. She got to reading, not noticing Greg’s surreptitious glances to triple check what he was seeing.

Now it was a problem. Here he was, next to a facsimile of his ideal woman. If he didn’t speak up and say something this moment would haunt him forever. This woman on the bus would become That Woman From The Bus.

Now the universe had fashioned the meet cute he’d wished for, was he just going to sit there, a lumpen ball of cowardice?

He tried to think of ways to open the conversation, but all he could think of were reasons why he shouldn’t.

He decided. If she stayed on two more stops, he’d talk to her.

Two stops. Nothing.

Two more stops. Ten thousand internal insults.

Another stop. He composed himself.

‘That-.‘

DING.

With the 250-word horror story contest wrapped up and winning parcels being shipped out tomorrow, I didn’t want to just showcase the three stories that placed in the contest.  There were three other entries that were quite awesome in their own right and I felt it was only right to spotlight each and every person who took the time to support my contest and show some creepy creativity!

First up, we learn that collection stamps and trading cards just doesn’t do it for some people.  As if roommates didn’t have enough stigmas about them, let’s enjoy this eerie little tale….

THE COLLECTION

by C.A. Verstraete

With Burt busy upstairs making them lunch, Ernie knew this was his chance.  He could finally take a quick look around his friend’s room, something he never got to do since Burt hardly left it for long.

Now that looks interesting, he thought.

The closet door opened with a groan.  He stood there and stared.

“Whoa.”

So good old Burt had a secret hobby…

He wasn’t sure whether to run or throw up, but after a few minutes he leaned in closer for a better view.  Dead, glassy eyes stared back from the row after row of jars.  Ernie shivered.

     Once Burt returned, Ernie tried to pay attention, but his thoughts kept going back to his friend’s weird collection.  He knew he’d better get his mind on what he was doing when Burt swore at him a second time.

     “C’mon, pay attention,” Burt yelled. “You’re screwing up the game.”

Ernie found it easy to sneak out of the house in the wee hours of the night while everyone slept.  No one ever suspected he’d gone out.

Humming to himself, he admired his colorful and growing collection.  The jar of eyes had a nice assortment of blue, green, and brown eyeballs.  The jar of toes had some pretty pink, purple and green painted toenails he’d collected on his nightly jaunts.

He sharpened the knife, thinking of his stepmother’s bright red fingernails and the two-tone manicure he’d seen on the lady next door.  Maybe it was time to start a new jar.

***

Christine Verstraete enjoys writing the unusual.  Her stories have been published in several anthologies including in the upcoming Young Adventurers: Heroes, Explorers and Swashbucklers and Zen of the Dead.  Another story will be in the November issue of Mystery Weekly.  She also is author of GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie and Changes: A Girl Z Prequel. Learn more at Christine’s official website and her blog. 

***

Next up, we go back in time to 1957, where a jilted employee seeks revenge on his former boss.  The only problem with the employee’s plan is that he’s so blind by rage, he makes a major *ahem* slip up…

UNTITLED SHORT STORY

by Matt Burns

                                                                                                                        November 6^th, 1957

Dear Diary,

            Today, He finally told me how much he cared for me. He makes me feel like I am the prettiest, most amazing girl in the world. I sure am lucky to have him.

                                                                        -Penny Evans.

   “Gus! I told you if I caught you slacking off again you would be fired!”

            Gus looked hesitantly and sighed, “Mr. Johnson, I can…”

            “You’re fired.” Mr. Johnson interrupted quickly.

            Gus worked at a small factory in Utah.  He had nothing in his life except his job and his mother.  He decided if Mr. Johnson could take his job away, then he would get revenge.

            It was a cool night.  Gus has been waiting outside Mr. Johnson’s house.

            “Finally,” he thought, when a figure walked out of the house.  He ran up and put a bag over the figure’s head.  Knocked them unconscious and put them in the car.

 He drove to a deep canyon.  He could tell it was a female by the body structure. “No going back now,” he thought dismissively.

He pulled her out of the car, who was able to walk but still disoriented from the blow.  He stood her at the edge of the cliff and in one swift motion ripped the bag off her head and kicked her.. He also slipped in to the canyon.

As he fell, he could see the woman’s face.  It was his mother.  They fell to the bottom of the canyon in unison.  Gus Evans died twice that night.

***

Lastly, we have a tale of bullying that ends up really getting the bullies stuck in a nasty situation…

RUN, JAKE, RUN

by Marjorie Wings

Finally the day had come.

Their nasty pranks, the atomic wedgies, every lunch they took!

Jake ran away from the skatepark and yelled, “Come on assholes, catch me if you can!”

The adrenaline was pumping through him, he could feel it throbbing through his veins.  He could hear that son of a bitch, Tommy, screaming, “Jakey, it’s no use! We gonna catch you!”

Tommy was the ring leader of their nasty little group and he was gonna pay.  Jake had been planning this for months and nothing would stop him from finally getting his revenge.  These guys had no clue what was waiting for them.

He had to pace himself. He didn’t want those fuckers to give up if he got too far ahead.

“Jakey! Jaaaaaakey,”

They were getting close.

He stopped about 150 yards inside the edge of a wooded area that no one would enter…unless, of course, you are Tommy!  Tommy never stops, but today he will!  Jake stood, panting, waiting for them to break through the wooded wall.  And then it happened- they all came barreling through and came to a stop right where he wanted them.  Stupid fucks.

Whoosh!

They all got caught and swooped up into the air before they knew what had happened.  The rope trap worked brilliantly!

As he dug his gas filled SuperSoaker out of the bush from where he hid it, he pulled a lighter from his pocket. The last thing those bastards heard was “Burn in hell!”

***

Well there you have it, folks!  Six of the creepiest short stories you’re bound to find on the internet!  Hope you enjoyed them and thank you very much, again, to the fantastic folks who penned these terrifying tales!

***

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nycmidnight

nycmidnight

The 250-word Microfiction Challenge

Dates / About / Prizes / Judges / FAQ / Winning Stories / Charities

Featured

One-Quarter Pound of Flesh

When the chills shake her teeth despite the sun scorching the metal roof above, Almeda burrows into the backroom cot and knows that the refugee camp will be her grave.

Length: 250 words Year: 2021

The Bundle

Eliza had seen grief on many women’s faces during her calls, but none so mixed with urgency as Sara’s.

Length: 250 words Year: 2020

Closure

Every week, mom and I would share a secret picnic lunch under the overpass where she slept.

Length: 250 words Year: 2019

                                    
                                          
Author's note :
I'll be updating short horror stories within 250 words...  Hope you all will enjoy reading them....................................................................................................................................................................... 
Her phone beeped "Smrt...".
 Elena had just made her bed and was preparing to sleep after hanging up with her boyfriend.
She deleted the text and slept off.
 Next night, she had her dinner and talked with her boyfriend.
 As she was about to sleep, she got a text message "...je blizko". She recognized it was the same sender from the last three digits '666'.
 She replied this time "WTF?” and went to sleep.
 Fifteen minutes later she heard a sharp noise which she recognized. Her phone had fallen down from the side table.
 Half asleep, she reached out to pick her phone up 
 She grabbed her phone, it did not move. She was perplexed.
 This time she got out of her quilt and bent down properly. The carpet started rising up with her pull but the phone did not come away. She kept pulling which lifted the carpet as high as the bed itself and the phone detached.
 The carpet did not fall back on the floor. She tried pushing it down with her feet and she freaked because of what she felt.



  


                       
  



 There was a living body underneath it. It started moving as if being woken up and came out. It was translucent. Elena could see her mirror and wardrobe through it.
 She jumped and tried to run to the door. The being caught her and put one of her limbs inside her mouth and started chewing. It was slow eating as if the being wanted to enjoy the meal. Eventually it entered her body. It wasn't Elena any more.
                                  

Hessa Taher is an ambitious student. I knew her from high school, every day she was fascinated us with her high academic level. She was working with her creativity and innovation which let her open a new successful business (Burger Mail).

Before she starts her business, she was still completing her undergraduate degree in AUS, her major is international relations. Hessa is 24 years old. She said “I have always wanted to explore the business world as I felt that I have a lot of creativity that I wanted to invest and offer to the world.” Her idea come from her love of vintage styles. It started as I designed a letter card for her friend in a vintage style and since then she couldn’t get over how beautiful it looked. She started experimenting with packaging.

So, her business started with the card that she designed and combined with her love for food and culinary arts. The two (packaging and food) came together on a BBQ that she organized for her friends. She was grilling burgers and she also had designed the letter then and so she came up with the idea of mailed Burgers and so that was the birth of (Burger Mail).

(Burger Mail), has three partners and their roles are divided. Hessa is responsible for procuring the supplies and creating the recipes. Mohammad is working on the graphics, supply of packaging, and social media. Maitha is operations manager which took place at her house.

The experience from (Burger Mail) was the most valuable reward for them.  As it taught them about costs, operations, managing people, working in a partnership, dealing with all sorts of difficulties, processes for cooking, supply management, and customer service. Also, she adds that (Burge Mail) was a window for them to explore their talents and creativity and so they were able to work on other projects; Mohammad has started a media and packaging business and he’s going to open an office soon, and she started giving consultations for startups on menu, suppliers, and brand identity. They are also collectively going to open their store in Sharjah by May of this year.

Hessa and her team faced many challenges, but the biggest of them all is dealing with each other as partners, dividing the work and solving our differences on various matters. In partnerships, dynamics and decision making is the most difficult challenge that they have to overcome. Hessa see that the top skills needed to be a successful entrepreneur are persistence, patience and passion. “Without these ones can easily quit and give up.” (Burger Mail) as any new business have failures. Hessa said that they failed to establish partnerships with two persons who were going to invest in (Burger Mail). They learned that it is crucial to pick the right partners to work with you.

In the end, Hessa’s advice for anyone want to start their own business was “My advice to them is don’t be afraid. Fear is the only obstacle to success and it’s mostly fear of failure that keeps people from pursuing what they really want. We have failed so many times and we faced so many difficulties and almost gave up but with every failure we grew stronger and got closer to our goals and success. Most importantly, do not listen to people who make you fear trying, people can be quite negative and they are mostly not owners of businesses who tell you not to. And put in mind that failure means learning. If (Burger Mail) had failed, it would’ve been sad but we have already started other businesses from the skill set and experience that we have acquired from (Burger Mail). Also, as I mentioned before, we are opening our official restaurant soon in Sharjah after so many challenges but we were persistence and patient with a lot of passion that made us rise again.

حصة طاهر طالبة طموحة أعرفها من أيام الثانوية، كل يوم كانت تبهرنا بمستواها وتحصيلها الدراسي. كانت تركز في عملها على أن يكون مبتكر ومبدع وفريد من نوعه، حتى استطاعت أن تفتح مشروع خاص بها

­­­حصة تبلغ ٢٤ عاما خريجة من جامعة الشارقة الأمريكية، تخصص علاقات دولية، فقد أشارت على أنها دائما كانت تحلم في العمل على مشروع يظهر كل امكانياتها الإبداعية والمبتكرة واستثمارها في افادة نهضة وتطوير الدولة

بدأت بمشروعها في بيع (البورغر) كخدمة منزلية دائما كانت تفكر في طريقة مختلفة في عرض مشروعها، فقد اختارت الطريقة القديمة والعتيقة التي كانت مصدر الهامها في بداية المشروع. فقد أتتها الفكرة من خلال عادتها التي كانت تحرص عليها وهي جمعة الأصدقاء لشواء (البورغر)التي كانت تنظمها في المنزل

أشارت حصة الى التحديات التي واجهتها خلال عملها في المشروع ومن أهما العمل كفريق واحد منظم وقد ذكرت أنها تعلمت الكثير منذ بداية المشروع في كيفية اختيار الشريك الصحيح ووضعه في المكان الصحيح لبناء مشروع ناجح ومتطور

وفي النهاية قدمت حصة نصيحة لكل امرأة تود أن تبدأ بمشروعها الخاص أن تتحلى بالشجاعة وعدم الخوف من الفشل، فجميعنا نخطئ وتواجهنا صعوبات ولكن الجميل أن نتعلم من الخطأ ونحاول تصحيحه لبلوغ الهدف

“Carpathia”

By Jesse Lee Kercheval, from Micro Fiction: An Anthology of Really Short Stories, edited by Jerome Stern

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It happened on my parents’ honeymoon. The fourth morning out from New York, Mother woke to find the Carpathia still, engines silent. She woke Father; they rushed to the deck in their nightgowns. The first thing they saw was the white of an ocean filled with ice, then they saw white boats, in groups of two or three, pulling slowly toward the Carpathia. My father read the name written in red across their bows—Titanic. The sun was shining. Here and there a deck chair floated on the calm sea. There was nothing else.

The survivors came on board in small groups. Women and children. Two sailors for each boat. The women of the Carpathia went to the women of the Titanic, wrapping them in their long warm furs. My mother left my father’s side to go to them. The women went down on their knees on the deck and prayed, holding each other’s children. My father stood looking at the icy water where, if he had been on the other ship, he would be.

When the Carpathia dropped off the survivors in New York, my parents too got off and took the train home, not talking much, the honeymoon anything but a success. At the welcome-home party, my father got drunk. When someone asked about the Titanic, he said, “They should have put the men in the lifeboats. Men can marry again, have new families. What’s the use of all those widows and orphans?” My mother, who was standing next to him, turned her face away. She was pregnant, eighteen. She was the one drowning. But there was no one there to rescue her.