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.
I have just finished moving my Speculative Fiction Blog to it’s new home at freesciencefiction.com. I will start phasing out the old site at tgenedavis.com, that address should start forwarding to the new one any time.
If you have links to stories on the old site, you’ll want to update those links for the new site.
The weekly reminder for new stories will have an updated look, and links to classic stories as well as the new story of the week.
I’m sure there will be a few kinks to work out. Feel free to give constructive feedback @TGeneDavis on Twitter. Also, please let me know if you find any typos or bugs on the new site, so I can fix them.
T. Gene Davis
by T. Gene Davis
Most parents impose on their grown children by asking them to run to the store and buy green beans at a quarter past midnight. The dutiful adult child having just begun a restful doze is awakened by the cell they did not dare turn off, and the request is made among reminders of how much labor the parent suffered on the child’s behalf.
My father puts all these parental units to shame. You see, he’s been a widower for years, and feels the need to make up for the missing parent’s requests. So, when he makes a request it isn’t by vocalization but by outrageous, though terse, 140 character commands.
“Matt joined the crew of a space liner. Go get your brother back.” My father’s text implied the unwritten, “Or, don’t come back, either.” So here I stood, facing this close-to-light ship floating in the bay along side normal sea freighters wondering how I’d find Matt on a ship that size.
by Lee Budar-Danoff
Nico noticed the little girl as she pressed herself against the glass window of his antique store. She stared with intent but when he smiled, she didn’t smile back.
He returned to his work but looked up over the wire-rim of his glasses as the bell above the door tinkled. The little girl strode in, black braid swishing behind her, followed by a frazzled woman.
“Annie, wait,” the woman said, but the girl ignored her. Instead she stopped at the end of the counter to focus on the project in front of Nico.
by Shannon Fay
Mad science 101 was the only class where you had to worry about your homework eating the dog.
Poor Barnaby. The only thing left of the cocker spaniel was a chewed-up collar the angle-wolf had spit out before booking it out of the lab Jodie had built in her grandma’s basement. She could hear the beast overhead, knocking over granny’s fine china and Hummel figures.
Jodie typed up an e-mail to her Mad-Sci 101 prof.
Dear Professor Smogmire,
I know the deadline for the anglefish-wolf hybrid is tomorrow, but could I please have an extension? My grandmother has passed away.
by Todd Austin Hunt
One knock sounded on his door at 12:01 AM on the first of November, as it had for 250 years.
Anthony hesitated, even though the request was familiar. He glanced out the kitchen window at the moonwashed cliff of Beachy Head and the Channel beyond.
Then a million knocks, a billion, pounding away in unison, a coruscating knot of sound that quaked his small home. The knocking made dishes rattle in their cabinets and his glass of whisky to dance and crash to the floor.
Thank you for reading my speculative blog! I love sharing the wonderful stories I find in my inbox with all of you. I expect we’ll be seeing plenty of new and exciting speculative stories here over the next year.
First off, I have a big announcement for 2016. Because of last year’s success, I’ve been able to raise the payment for stories to $100 (US). This is a respectable pro payment rate for flash fiction. It isn’t too bad a semi-pro payment rate for short stories, either. Keep the well written stories coming.
Second, since it is the New Year, I have a New Year’s resolution to share. This year I’m planning to make my way through the River Song stories in her chronological order. I’m going to omit the graphic novels and such, but I’ll include at least one novel.
Here’s the order I’ll watch and read them in. If anyone has any episodes I missed, or books I failed to include, please let me know. I’ll update this list as necessary.
by T. Gene Davis
He leaned in, intruding on her personal space in a familiar way she only allowed her mentor. Lucy felt his words as heated breath on one ear more than she heard them.
His lips and breath withdrew, leaving her questioning his intensions. They stood on an empty tube platform. No cars. Above, concrete and countless feet of dirt. Below, rails in a six-foot deep pit.
She put a hand on her stomach to settle it.
by Tara Campbell
Misty watched Joe pace the living room. Things had been going missing—car keys, loose change, magazines, and now his cigarettes.
“That’s the second pack this week,” he growled, lifting a stack of papers off the coffee table.
“Sorry, Joe,” she said from the couch.
“How does this keep happening?” He stomped into the kitchen and Misty heard drawers opening and banging shut. The edge in his voice told her to stay on the couch, out of his way.
He stalked back out of the kitchen and stood in the living room, fists on hips. Misty watched him take a deep breath in and out as he scanned shelves and windowsills. She supposed he was counting to ten. “Guess I need to get another pack,” he grumbled.
She had to get him out of this mood. “Maybe Chelsea’s swiping them,” she said, reaching over to pet the small, rust-colored tabby curled up next to her. “Maybe kitty doesn’t like smoking in the house.” Chelsea purred and rolled over to expose her soft white belly. Misty looked up at Joe with a tentative smile.
“The cat, eh?” His face was unreadable. Behind her smile, Misty clenched her teeth as he sat down next to her on the couch.
by W.S. Hamilton
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.
by T. Gene Davis
Carrie fingered her reprimand collar at the library table. Her legal guardian, the house AI, kept one on her and her sister for discipline purposes. The shogi game in front of her awaited her move. She ran her fingers between her collar and the flesh of her neck, avoiding the sharp pointed electrodes that held it in place. She tried imagining not wearing it.
“Any month now.” Keith’s voice jolted her. He whisked her away to the library for a game of shogi any time the house AI became too annoying.
“I know. I’m excited to get it off.”
“The game. It’s your turn. You know I’ll have your king. No shame in resigning.”
“It’s just not in me.”
“Even John the waiter couldn’t save you now.”
“‘John the waiter’?” (more…)