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David Rae Stories

I’m an LDS short story writer. I write horror, ghost stories, mystery, magical realism and other genres. I write any plot that come into my imagination. Here are some of my short stories for you to read for free. I hope you enjoy them. Feel free to contact me with any comments or feedback that you want to share.

Tales that hold us together

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THE LOCH NESS MONSTER

02/11/2019

We rode out to the loch in your dad’s silver merc; you drove. Giggling, laughing, we stripped on the water’s edge letting our clothes fall together. Our eyes stealing shy glimpses of smooth skin. We swam out into the loch, out to the deep water; backstroke, breaststroke, crawl, the icy water like a dead lover’s caress. In the full moon’s light, your hair and skin glowed like silver, like you were a ghost or a spirit. You swam towards me and treading water, you kissed me. Your lips tasted of salt
THE PATH ANDREAS UFEN

02/04/2019

Pavlos got up and picked up a piece of newspaper that lay on the pavement. He sat down again. This time a bit closer to Albano's makeshift bed and unfolded the paper. '18. November 1962' it said on the top of the page. The year was correct but it was July, or wasn't it? What happened to the last four months? THE PATH Pavlos strolled down the small path that led to the beach. A young white cat with brown speckles followed him, exploring the high grass which was buzzing with insects in
THE SUPERNATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM

01/28/2019

When we arrived at the Super-Natural History Museum, we were ushered into the exhibition hall. The photographs themselves were grainy and unremarkable. They were distinguished only by the presence of fairy folk in the photography THE SUPERNATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM An Extract from THE LEPIDOPTERIST'S BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER When I stopped at the door to leave, I turned to her. “Was your visit productive?” she asked. “Not as productive as I had hoped,” I told her. She looked at me, and I
The Twins

01/23/2019

Once the chanty pot was full, Ruth needed a better place to hide their savings. She told herself that’s what they were; savings not stealing. I’m doing it for his own good, besides, what’s his is mine THE TWINS JOHN AND RUTH The twins never cried not ever. They never cried to be fed or to be changed or to be cuddled. Instead, they just stared at Ruth with those creepy golden eyes and demanded to be fed or changed, or cuddled. Poor Ruth, she was rushed of her feet. If wasn’t one twin
TURN NEITHER TO THE LEFT HAND NOR THE RIGHT

01/15/2019

Darkness would give her some cover, but in the end, there was no hiding, not from them. She’d be better to start running and keep running. Turn Neither to the Left Hand Nor the Right Anne had packed tins of food into her backpack. “Come with me?” she said. I shook my head; there was no point discussing it again. “Where will you go?” I asked. “Does it matter?” She was right. They’ll find us no matter where we hide. They are everywhere. “I’ll wait until it is dark,” she continued.
FIVE LETTERS TO SANTA

12/21/2018

she tore open the first letter. It was written on Mickey Mouse notepaper and scribbled in crayon. The kid must have been about five when he wrote it. Five letters to Santa By David Rae The great thing about homicide is what it does to retail values. We would never have been able to afford the house if it hadn’t been for the murders; two murders and a suicide to be precise. That put a big dent in the asking price, and Amy haggled it down still further. After all, it’s not everyone that
RABBITS ROMANS GOLFCLUBS

12/10/2018

"What we need is a ferret," Andrew said". "My Dad has one, but he won't let me take it in case it runs away." Romans, Rabbits, and Golf Clubs By David Rae The old Roman fort is a perfect football pitch. The boys from the town like to play there, and if I ask really nicely, they let me play with them. I am always last picked because I'm not very good, but there is nothing better than chasing after a football. There are lots of rabbits at the fort, and they have dug their holes
THE GIBSHILL WEREWOLF BRIAN HERON

12/03/2018

Lyonie shouted after him: “Aye if you don’t find any werewolves doon the Gibby try Weir Street, there’s usually some hanging aboot the aff licence!” The three of us bust out laughing. Good friend the multi-talented BRIAN HERON, musician, songwtrighter, artist, writer and camapaginer for mental health and social justice, shares his disturbing story of werewolfs, local history, and disfunctional familes. Originally posted on TALES OF THE OAK, a local community arts development project, you
The Arrival

11/27/2018

“Now lassie,” said Aggie, “ When a’ gie ye the call hunker doon an push wi aw yir might.” THE ARRIVALS JOHN AND RUTH John ushered his heavily pregnant wife over the threshold of the cottage. “Hello Mother,” he called. From the next room came a tall, thin woman dressed in a plaid shawl. “John,” the lady exclaimed. “And who may I ask is this bonnie wee lass?” Before anyone could answer, the lady, John’s mother had rushed over to a chair by the fireplace and started to plump up the

ENJOY

A writers motivation is the pleasure they recieve from reading and a wish to share that joy. Childrens' adventures, picture books, pirates, goblins and elves, witches and wizards. We love these stories but we also love stories about far away places, ordinary people and different ways of looking at the world.

I've tried to make my stories true to life. Not in the literal sense but in the sense that they feel true and convincing. I've tried to make them enjoyable and hope that I can bring some of the joy that I get from reading to some else.

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THE LOCH NESS MONSTER

THE PATH ANDREAS UFEN

THE SUPERNATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM

The Twins

TURN NEITHER TO THE LEFT HAND NOR THE RIGHT

FIVE LETTERS TO SANTA

RABBITS ROMANS GOLFCLUBS

THE GIBSHILL WEREWOLF BRIAN HERON

The Arrival

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