Science Fiction, Horror, and Fantasy Stories

Science fiction stories. Fantasy stories. Horror stories. All for adults, but of the family-friendly persuasion.

T. Gene Davis’s Speculative Blog posts free science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories–mostly by guest authors. Subscribe (on the left) for the free sci-fi, horror and fantasy stories newsletter delivered when new stories post. The stories accepted are for adults (sometimes with mature themes), but safe to leave open on a tablet at the kitchen table where kids can get ahold of it. I currently pay $100 (US) for the right to publish your story on the blog and in the anthology. Check out the submission guidelines for more information.

The Artist, Perfect in His Craft

by Alter S. Reiss

Artatra stormed down the five hundred black marble steps to his laboratories and warrens.  It was utterly intolerable, the restrictions under which he worked.  That a mind such as his should be yoked to an unimaginative, plodding, stupid . . . well, not stupid, exactly.  That was the problem!  If the Presence in the Throne was stupid, it could be worked around.  The mind behind that mask was sly, it was well-ordered, and it knew far more than it rightly ought.  It was unimaginably worse than stupid—it was a functioning mind that lacked vision.

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The Backwards Man

by Preston Dennett

I remember quite distinctly the day I met him. One does not easily forget the strangest day in one’s life. It was a soggy morning, gray and overcast; fitting indeed I should think for what would soon take place. He stood at my doorstep, gripped my hand with unearned familiarity and smiling at me, attempted to enter my house.

While he appeared vaguely familiar, I was quite certain I had never made his acquaintance. “Pardon, sir,” I said abruptly, blocking his path. “But I am not in the habit of allowing strangers into my home.”

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Dwarves, Elves, and Consultants

by Hamilton Kohl

Kalm looked at his two-headed axe lying in front of him on the boardroom table and wished that he hadn’t left his shield at his desk. Armor was out of the question, his helm and chainmail sat uselessly in the trunk of his car in the darkest depths of parking level thirty-three, section D.

“-but who is saying that we need to hire consultants?” The vice-queen’s voice cut through him like a shard of ice killing any further thoughts of his forgotten armaments. You could always hear it in her voice first. The practiced fake charm slithered away to reveal the more suitable growl that lurked underneath.

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Dead Again

by Inegbenoise O. Osagie

Everything was happening again, same births, same deaths, same events, like a rhythm playing for the second time, like walking through a path again. Mama Dayo died last week, and her son would die this week. The worst part was nothing could be done to stop it. If I told papa Dayo not to spend all of his money burying his wife because he would need some for his son’s funeral, he would probably spit on me and load upon me all kinds of curses, and when his son eventually died, his entire family would run to our house and shout out my name, drag me to the village square and beat me like a witch. They would ask questions like how did I know his son would die if I had no hand in it.

Knowing what would happen before it did was nothing but torture—a torture that made me cry before everyone did or made me laugh before everyone else.

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Fishie

by T. Gene Davis

“Fishie?” Little Evan asked over the sound of his mother flushing the toilet.

Ray stepped between Evan and Cecelia, squatting down to look into Evan’s watering eyes.

“I thought you said that Fishie went to heaven.”

Ray took a deep breath, keeping eye contact. “Evan, … Fishie, … well, he did some things … He’s gone to a bad place.”

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Frozen Heart

by Esther Davis

The snowfall muffled the distant highway, and frosted autumn leaves still clung to their branches. Cody perched on the bench’s edge. His pug flopped into the carpet of snow at his feet. He watched Rachel’s fingers molding the handful of snow—clumsy and awkward. So simple, so ordinary. Magicless.

It was beautiful.

(more…)

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Anchor and Key

by Rebecca Birch

“Can I help you?” the ghost whispered.

It drifted behind the dust-covered reference desk, an insubstantial wisp with a hint of long hair wrapped in an untidy bun and the barest glimpse of wire-rimmed spectacles.  I tried not to stare.  It had been decades since anyone had required corrective lenses.  And, well, she was dead.  She wasn’t supposed to exist at all.

I cleared my throat.  The sound echoed in the library’s cavernous skeleton.  “I’m, uh, looking for a book.” (more…)

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