Short Stories | dragonsdream

Short Stories - Introduction

This page will showcase my Short Story prose (between 500 to 2500 words) to give samples of my writing style with varying genres and topics.

Bucket Dreams

It felt a little silly at first, cramming my 6-foot frame into the tiny sidecar of a motorcycle that was barely big enough for me, but those thoughts flew away as we got moving along the coastal road. Goggles on and a thin scarf covering my nose and mouth to protect myself from bugs, the wind ran its cooling fingers through my hair on this hot summer evening - it was bliss. The sea sparkled like stars in the distance and the trees nearby danced in the brilliant amber light of the setting sun as we sped on past—the perfect start to the ultimate journey.

Scritch.

I had to keep reminding myself that all this was for me. My benefit. My dreams. The pricing neatly typed in the clean and crisp menu kept staring me down and making my wallet shrink back in fear despite having plenty for my journey in the bank. I swallowed my Northern sensibilities and - turning to the waiter of this fancy Southern coastal bar - ordered a whole grilled lobster. Thankfully, I only received a raised eyebrow for the clearly strained (and possibly psychotic) smile stretched across my face due to the pricing - Seventy quid! Seventy quid for a meal for only one person! - as he took our orders and left.

“You alright? You looked pretty damn constipated when you were orderin’ that lobster, mate.” said my ever-observant friend, Mark, with a wide smile plastered across his smug face.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” I replied weakly, “I’ve saved up and I said - I said I always wanted to try lobster, so, I’m damn well going to have lobster. No matter how bloody expensive it is.” I trailed off into a mutter as I complained about the price.

After Mark let out a guffaw at my very valid complaint, our conversation went on to discuss the rest of our journey as we waited for our food. Eventually, our meals arrived. My mouth watered at the rich smell of the Thermidor sauce as my dish was placed in front of me.

I decided to try some of the meat without the sauce first. It cost me seventy god-damned quid so I was going to savour it. I put the piece of Lobster in my mouth and the taste erased most of my doubts about the pricing. I’ve had crab before but this… this was slightly sweeter and much less ‘fishy’ in taste, definitely preferred. The meat itself felt like it melted on my tongue - like being draped in a silken sheet of delectable heaven.

“Worth it?” Mark asked with the same smug grin as earlier plastered on his face after taking a bite of his own meal.

I glared and purposefully took another slow bite. This time I added the thermidor sauce. The lobster was divine. The luxuriant creamy sauce made of dry white wine had nutty, rich undertones that complimented and elevated the taste of the heavenly lobster.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Mark stated, eyebrow raised in amusement, as he began tucking into his meal. I ignored him and carried on eating my own. Savouring every bite.

Scritch.

My breath was wheezing out of me like a broken squeaky toy by the time we reached the start of the Canyoning course at Cautley Spout. I forget why we opted to take the 1-hour walk up the ‘hill’ rather than take the heli-canyoning experience, but I now regret that particular decision. My body let out a particularly violent cough in agreement mid-squeaky-wheeze.

“You alright, mate?” Mark asked in uncommon concern “I know we just walked all the way up here, but if you’re not feelin’ up to it…”

“Nah, I’m fine. Think I just swallowed a fly is all.” I lied. I really wanted to do this and I didn’t want Mark worrying about me all day.

“Okay, if you say so,” Mark responded in a lighter, sceptical tone.

After the initial lesson in ropework techniques and technical skills, we began our five-and-a-half-hour descent of the canyon. I’d occasionally cough again and get remarks about “Another fly?” or “Was it a small fish this time?” after sections of water. Mark clearly didn’t believe my initial excuse and was worrying anyway, the big softie.

We abseiled down sheer rock walls and gushing waterfalls, jumped over small gaps, did some down-climbing and slid down shallow streams. From high up the views of the countryside were amazing: green fields as far as the eye could see and trees looking almost ablaze, turning amber and red, in the rare crisp and clear British Autumn weather.

Scritch.

It was time to forget about the stink eyes and nasty side glances I got while having a coughing fit on the aeroplane over to Thailand. From a resort on the coast of Satun, we set forth to the Tarutao National Park and our next adventure—a diving experience in the paradisal Koh Lipe.

Suited up and having made sure my oxygen mask won’t set off another bought of coughing, our diving group and the instructor sat on the sides of the boat and fell backwards into the crystal clear depths. Due to my condition, I stayed close to the instructor but it didn’t detract from the experience in any way.

Diving down we began to see the vibrant rainbows of the coral reef; fire reds, sunflower yellows, deep purples and neon pinks carpeted the large rocks. The small, colourful fish swam in glittering schools past and around us almost like we were in a Disney movie.

After a short while, Mark swam closer and pointed to the distance. A small pod of dolphins were swimming towards our group. They came closer and playfully swam above, below and around us. They came close enough to us to stroke their smooth and rubbery skin. Awe and happiness made my chest feel lighter than it had in weeks.

Finishing the dive without incident, both Mark and I were riding the high of the great dive and swimming with dolphins. Two dreams in one adventure was a damn good deal for our Thai trip.

Scritch. Scritch.

The wind blasted through my hair as the tiny airboat we were on skimmed over the marshy, dull-green bayou. Our tour guide slowed it down and began pointing out, by rote, areas where gators were usually spotted. Mosquitos left itchy bites on my arms and legs despite my best efforts to use spray and wipes to stop the little buggers. We spotted a couple of gators on the tour along with a group of herons and the odd turtle on the shores of the small bayou islands.

After the tour, we got off the airboat and were led to a small wooden cabin with a gift shop inside. Outside of this was a ‘photo opportunity’ with a baby gator and we got in line.

As we were waiting I raised my hand to my mouth and coughed. I could feel a strange wetness on my hand and I pulled it away to look. Red splattered on my hand and I began to taste a slight iron tinge on my tongue. I quickly wiped my hand on my black shorts before Mark could notice. He was standing on his tip-toes trying to look over the rest of the queue.

“It shouldn’t take this long, surely?” He complained.

We eventually got to the front and I was told how to hold the baby gator and Mark took the photo on his phone. The baby gator was so relaxed and well-behaved, hardly moved at all and seemed quite happy and comfy in my hands. Holding this tiny baby gator I felt a slow warmth in my chest and smiled a genuine smile for the photo, the bloody cough temporarily forgotten.

Scritch.

This was a good find. The traditionally styled Japanese hotel provided a private hot spring bath for each room and mine had a spectacular view of Mt Fuji in the distance. I relaxed in the hot spring bath looking out at the early morning mist enshrouding the mountain. An awe-inspiring, mystical view. I doubted that Mark was up and about in the room next door, a notorious late sleeper to all who knew him.

I started coughing and raised my hand to my mouth, trying to keep the noise down. I lowered my hand without looking and drank a shot of Soju to clear my mouth of the taste.

Scritch. Scritch.

The bright lights of Tokyo looked like a blanket of stars in the night as I stared out from the Top Deck of Tokyo Tower. Mark stood by my side looking out to the horizon as well.

“You know,” he began, “this would be pretty damn romantic. A pity you’re here with me, huh.”

I punched his arm for the joke.

“No one I’d rather be–” I replied and was interrupted by a vicious coughing fit. I could feel wetness on the back of my black mask (I was wearing it out of courtesy to the Japanese culture around illness, even though I’m not contagious). The taste of iron coated my mouth.

Holding my arm with one hand and rubbing my back with the other, Mark was looking at me with concern as my coughing died down.

“I’m alright now,” I said, straightening my back from the hunched-over position I ended up in.

“Okay.” He said slowly, still holding my arm.

“A good thing that the rest don’t require me to travel much. I feel I’ll be staying put when we get back home.”

A melancholy sadness cloaked us on our last night in Japan.

Scritch.

‘And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.’

Propped up in the cheery-coloured yellow and blue bed, tubes protruding from me and connected to all sorts of things, I close The Lord of the Rings. A hospice nurse knocks on the door with a kind smile.

“You’ve got a visitor. Shall I let him in?” she gently asks.

It could only be one person at this time, “Let him in.”

She leaves the doorframe and a short while after Mark walks in. His eyes glance sadly from me to the closed book in my hands.

“Oh, sorry mate, did I interrupt your readin’?”

I put the book on the bedside table and pick up my notepad and pen.

“Nah, not at all. Just finished it.” I scratch off the last item on the list:

Read Lord of the Rings

“Glad I saved the easier ones for last.” I show a soft, small smile as I look back on all the scratched-out items.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” Mark says, eyes slightly watery when I look up to him, holding back his tears.

“Oh, come on now…” I put my notepad and pen back on the bedside table.

“Just ignore me,” Mark waves his hand dismissively in front of himself, “You know what I’m like, just bein’ selfish is all.”

He sits down on the blue plastic chair next to my bed and we talk about family, friends and memories.

Time slows to a molasses pace–slow and sweet. The natural light gradually dims outside to be replaced with the bright, sanitary electric lights turning on at their scheduled time. Like a ghostly apparition, the hospice nurse quietly appears in the doorway and waits for a lull in our conversation.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she gently interrupts, “visiting times are now over…”

Mark sighs, “I guess that’s my cue.” He stiffly stands from the uncomfortably small chair, “See you around…” His goodbye sounding more like a question than a statement.

“Go on.” I nod towards the door, “Before she gets security to drag you out for overstaying.” I joke.

“Alright, alright. I’m goin’...” Mark says as he walks towards the door.

“Goodbye, Mark.” I say as he walks out the door and down the hall with the nurse.

Eventually, the lights turn out for sleep and I use the buttons on the bed to lie down. And I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, and the memories of completing my Bucket List languidly flow through my mind as sweet dreams—the ultimate start to the ultimate - final - journey.

Mall of the Missing

I’ve always been interested in true crime mysteries. The description for this one really piqued my interest and gave the promise of a harrowing tale.

On the screen is a young woman in her mid-twenties - mousy brown hair styled in a bun, tanned skin, and - what her fans would say - the kindest green eyes you ever saw. She is sitting with her gaze piercing through the screen, a muted sadness subtly radiating from her due to the story she’s about to tell. In a dulcet, soothing tone she begins…

Hi everyone. It’s me, Marie Malone of Home Malone Mysteries. Picture this; it’s Winter - closing in on Christmas - you’ve just got home from work and see a missed call with a recorded message on your phone. It’s from your fiancée saying she’s just got a few last presents to buy before she can say “That’s it! Christmas shopping done.”. She said she’s going to the local Mall and will be back soon. But she never arrives home. Never calls or texts you back after that last one.

Just - poof - gone.

The video stills as I pause it for a moment. The poor man. The poor woman. One waiting helplessly for the other. Hope struggling to remain alight like a match in a storm. Breathe in: 1, 2. Breath out: 1, 2. Now ready - moment taken - the video continues on.

Yeah, this did happen. Where is she? What exactly happened? Is she even still alive?

To set the scene; the Mall we’re talking about is the old Gold Rush Mall in Little Leeds, Montana. Built-in the mid-1960s and hasn’t been updated since. The same outdated decor in the common, public areas. The same outdated, rickety escalators ascend to the upper floor. And, the same outdated electrics wired throughout. The only thing that’s fairly “recent” are the CCTV cameras that were installed in the late 1970s.

The missing woman in this case is Cheri Sanders; age twenty-two, above average height, average weight. She has dyed bright, neon-red hair that she kept from a charity event for Red Nose Day back in May and decided she liked the colour. Her eyes are a soft, dark brown and she usually had a soft smile ready for anyone and everyone she talked to. Her friends and family describe her as kind but fiery. A very determined young woman who is always willing to help someone in need. She worked as a vet and was always volunteering for various local charities and her church in her free time. She was always trying to do good in the world to the best of her abilities.

Then she went missing.

Our story begins on Wednesday 7th December 2022 at 6:00 pm. Cheri is confirmed to be last seen in person by her co-worker, Anna, as she was leaving work. Cheri left with the usual soft but tired smile on her face, waving goodnight and saying she’ll be seeing her bright and early in the morning. Though it was tough work, they both loved their job and got along well with each other, their customers, and their often-times furry - sometimes scaly - patients.

She drives to the Gold Rush Mall, about thirty minutes away from her veterinary clinic. Cheri parks her car, gets out her phone, and calls her fiancé.

A recording then begins to play. The usual grainy sound of a phone message eerily playing out the last happy words that she’s known to have said - the bouncy, disembodied voice of the gone reverberating in my head.

“Hey sweetie, I guess you’re still working since you’re not picking up. I’m just stopping by Gold Rush to buy a few last presents for Christmas then I’ll FINALLY be DONE! I hope the lines at checkout won’t be too long and I should be back soon. Love you lots - mwah! Bye.”

The recording stops to be replaced on the screen by a rectangle displaying CCTV footage next to young Marie as she continues. Rapt I listen, as the situation unfolds.

CCTV cameras in the parking lot show her leaving and locking her car at about 6:45 pm before entering the Mall proper. We then see her on various CCTV just walking about the Mall and going into a couple of shops for maybe fifteen minutes.

As she’s heading to the next shop, she slows down and stops.

Though the footage is grainy, you can get a sense that she hunches slightly - tries to make herself look smaller - as she turns her head and looks around her. We don’t know if she did see anything at that time, we’re assuming she didn’t as she straightens back up and carries on heading in the direction of the next shop. For the next thirty minutes - as she’s doing her shopping - she’s seen on CCTV stopping and looking around with more frequency and urgency, maybe even fear, before she seems to dismiss her instincts and carries on with her shopping.

Eventually, laden with multiple bags from several shops, she goes to the Mall’s restrooms. People say not many actually use them, not unless you really, really need to go. So, the CCTV catches her walking in.

Then it all goes black.

You know how I mentioned earlier about the electric wiring in the building not being updated since the place was built in the 1960s? This Mall seems to have a problem with frequent blackouts. The power went off for only ten minutes. Just ten. When the power returned to the Mall, CCTV wouldn’t capture anyone else going into or out of the restrooms until one of the Mall’s janitors went into them about fifteen minutes later for scheduled cleaning. They would immediately run straight back out, mobile in hand while dialing the cops. The call would be recorded at around 7:57 pm.

Instincts are there for a reason. Poor Cheri should have listened to them. The image of the CCTV footage fades away. Marie - small and alone on the screen takes a breath, steeling herself for what comes next.

In the restroom: Her shopping bags were strewn over the floor and open - gifts of toys and clothes scattered and blood-spattered near the far wall. Close by was a broken and bloodied sink - the front cracked as if something had smashed into it with force, blood caked into the damage. A blood streak making a body-sized drag mark went from the sink to halfway through the restroom. No footprints though.

The cops would arrive five minutes later: tape off the crime scene, gather evidence, take pictures, get the CCTV footage - all that jazz. They would find Cheri’s purse with her ID amongst all the bags of shopping in the restroom. They’d begin notifying her next of kin and her fiancé the next day.

In the days that followed, investigations would be done and her family would regularly make appeals to the public to find her. Her Fiancé, Tom Danvers, tearfully pleaded “She is the light of mine, and many others lives. She is a kind, caring woman that our family and all of our community misses dearly. We won’t stop looking until we find her. Honey, if you can hear me, please come home safe. And if whoever has taken her is listening, please, let her go. Let her come back to us, safe.”

To this day, three months later, there’s still nothing. No new evidence, no new leads, no arrests. Three months. And the worst part - this wasn’t the first missing person’s case at Gold Rush Mall, Little Leeds, Montana.

So the mystery remains a mystery with more mysteries before. I’m engrossed by it all, listening on.

There was another similar case like this only about four months, or so, prior. An out-of-towner by the name of Judy Kingsly. A sweet, young girl of eighteen. Blonde with bright blue eyes. Her friends say she’s adventurous and passionate. She wasn’t afraid of anything and was willing to travel anywhere.

She was traveling across the state with her friends, heading back to Wyoming and ready to begin 12th Grade at the start of September. Her friends recounted how she was excitedly telling them about her plans to take a year out and travel around Europe once she completes this final year and graduates. They were only going to stop briefly in the Mall: just check it out, do a bit of impromptu shopping, rest for a bit before carrying on the long drive home.

They parked up, went in and she would eventually split off from her friends in the Mall when the rest of them stopped for food. Judy went up the old, rickety escalators to a boutique clothes shop on the upper level and out of sight of the Mall’s CCTV.

Again there would be a power outage.

Immediately after this, her friends would be searching all around the Mall for her. They’d split up, go into as many shops as they could and ask around. One of her friends, Alice D’laney, would go up the escalator and to the boutique clothes shop.

She talked to the sales rep and found out that Judy had picked out some clothes and went into the changing rooms just before the power went out. The sales rep said she heard a surprised shout and she just yelled back from where she was at the counter that the power outages happen sometimes and that it would be over soon. It had only been about fifteen minutes in total since she went in: ten minutes when all the power went out and 5 minutes until the friend arrived. The sales rep said she assumed that the young woman was still inside trying on the clothes.

Alice would send a quick message on the group chat saying she’s in the boutique clothes shop on the 2nd floor and has been told Judy is in the changing rooms there. The friends convene in the store and, as they’re waiting, they notice another customer entering the changing room area.

A shocked, distressed scream echoes through the shop.

When recounting the story, the friends said the customer that went into the changing rooms rushed back out again, pointing back from where they ran from. Each of them felt a pit in their stomachs. With the sales rep, they approached the changing rooms.

Past the dropped clothes abandoned by the distraught customer, streaks of blood could be seen emerging from one of the changing room stalls. The sales rep stopped the group of friends from going any closer before herding them back out into the shop and calling the cops.

Later, the media would inform us of the crime scene: no body was found, just the changing room mirror - broken with blood in the cracks and the blood smeared on the floor, like something had been dragged away. No leads or new evidence would be found and no arrests made.

And this gets worse, so, so much worse.

Still only a girl, gone like the other, and it only gets worse from here?

Samantha Hart, a thirty-year-old mother of two, would also disappear in the Mall two months before Judy. Kind and caring, she worked as a cleaner in Livingston and was going on holiday with her family to Yellowstone.

Poor children, to lose their mother at a time when they should have been making happy memories.

One month before her, Jasmine Atwal was going to visit friends in Townsend and stopped off to rest in Gold Rush Mall. Forty years old, a happy soul - laugh lines gracefully adorned her face. Friends and family describe her as their ray of light, their sunshine - essential to their lives. Missing in the Mall.

Two months earlier Rachael Smith had gone missing in Gold Rush Mall as she was passing through Little Leeds. Described as a bubbly and cheerful woman by her family. Only twenty-two, just like Cheri.

And another two months before Rachael, Anna-Blair Thompson - thirty-five years old. A determined woman, passionate and fierce - an entrepreneur on the up and up. The first to go missing in the Mall as she was heading to Wyoming on a business trip.

Six women in one year. Six women went missing in this Mall in just one year. Each time there was no new evidence found, no leads, and no arrests were made. Just blood left where they went missing and the CCTV being almost next to useless.

Such a short time and so many women went missing. Such a tragedy.

Many netizens blame the cops for letting it get this far, claim that they didn’t care about the first five that went missing because they weren’t local women - just out-of-towners passing through. The media didn’t start picking up the thread until four women had already gone missing in this Mall. Despite the increased media coverage now and despite Cheri Sanders - a local vet - going missing, it seems like we’re no closer to any resolution to these missing person cases.

Please, everyone, stay safe. Goodbye.

The sadness in Marie’s eyes flash with a spark of determination as the video ends and a new upcoming, scheduled video appears on the screen.

The title: I’m sorry - I tried.

The description: Being frustrated with the last case I decided to go look into it myself. If this video is airing it means I am now among the missing after visiting the Mall.

A muffled thud sounds behind me from my built-in wardrobe. I let out a deep sigh. I smile.

Bucket Dreams

Mall of the Missing