Grab a FREE copy of ‘Come What May Day’ this weekend only

It’s Spring Bank Holiday weekend here in the UK, which means three things: an extra day off on Monday, ice-cold cider all weekend long, and my latest eBook available to buy for FREE in every Amazon marketplace.

Come What May Day has 20 overlapping, interweaving, multi-genre short stories that will make you laugh, roll your eyes, and be a little bit sick in your mouth.

This offer is only available until midnight on Monday, so be sure grab your free copy on Amazon ASAP!


May Day has arrived in a gloomy Yorkshire town, and the storm clouds have parted just enough for the annual May Fair to kick off without a hitch. But how long will it be until the town’s dark streak rears its ugly head?

There’s some very questionable meat on the barbecue, a chainsaw-wielding madman is on the loose, and a couple of aliens are trying to figure out if Earth is worth all the hype.

The Morris dancers can’t remember their moves, the maypole is commandeered by a ribbon-addicted feline, and an animal army is awaiting in the woods to set a revolution in motion.

Will the May Queen be deserved of her crown? Will the Federation of Knitters finally gossip itself into oblivion? And will the Green Man get away with his usual mischief before the twisted trees scupper his plans?

Silly, sweet and sinister, these funny short stories for adults are the perfect read for a lazy spring weekend.

Catch up with some of the characters from the author’s previous collection – Merry Bloody Christmas – or get to the know them for the first time with Come What May Day.


And if you’re a Brit, may the sun shine down on your Bank Holiday Weekend with only minimal amounts of (sadly inevitable) rain.

What the Hell Are You? | Flash Fiction

“They stole our name?”

“Yes, boss.”

“How dare they?”

“Their gall is astounding, boss.”

“And I suppose they expect to take over our turf?”

“We can’t say for sure, boss. But it’s a serious possibility.”

“I am incandescent with rage.”

“I’m sure, boss.”

“Bring one of them to me.”

Continue reading on Medium >

Part of Something | Short Story

Three strangers cling together, grubby, weak, and utterly terrified of the knives and guns and nail-ridden planks of wood that surround them.

“You’ll hand over everything you’ve got in exchange for safe passage through the valley.” Cain picks at his fingernails with the tip of his hunting knife. “Two of our own will escort you. They’ll leave you to continue your journey on the other side.”

One of the strangers shakes his head. “You can’t take everything. We need it to survive.” Continue reading “Part of Something | Short Story”

Tiny Explosion. Big Leak | Microfiction

This week’s silly, stupid stories from Instagram and Twitter.

 

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A post shared by Ellie Scott (@tinysillystories) on

Continue reading “Tiny Explosion. Big Leak | Microfiction”

The Last Cig in the Packet | Short Story

I wrote this story nine months ago and put off publishing it in case it was too morbid or doleful. It’s certainly a lot different to the silly, whimsy fiction I tend to post. I was also scared of sharing too much of myself. This story is fictional, but it is inspired by own experiences with depression, self-harm and suicidal ideation. It’s Mental Health Awareness Week in the UK right now. I figured that sharing fiction like this might help in one way or another.

Ask for help. Lean on your loved ones. Don’t be too proud to admit when things are getting too difficult.


‘What are things like at home?’

I think of the thick layer of dust that sits on every surface in my living room, the unopened mail which carpets my hallway and the stacks of dirty mugs in my kitchen sink.

I shrug. ‘Fine.’

‘Do you live alone?’

I nod.

Dr Taylor looks away from his computer screen. ‘And how do you find that?’

I shrug again. I’ve lost count of how many shrugs I’ve given him over the course of the past five minutes. ‘Fine.’

‘What about when you need support? Who can you turn to?’

Another shrug. ‘My mum, I guess.’

‘Does she live nearby?’

I nod.

‘You see her often?’

I nod.

‘Does she know about the self-harm?’

My hand automatically moves to my forearm so that my fingers can poke at the fresh wound which lives there. It’s just beginning to crust over. The stab of soreness calms me. I’m looking forward to the inevitable sting that will occur later when I peel away the fabric from sticky, angry flesh.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘So if you were in crisis you could go to your Mum’s house?’

‘I s’pose.’

‘And do you?’

Course not. When I’m in crisis I wallow in it.

‘Sometimes,’ I say.

‘Good. So your mum is an important part of your support network. I’ll make a note of that.’ He turns back to his computer screen and taps away at his keyboard.

I look at the beige walls of the bland office and wonder how Dr Taylor himself isn’t stir fucking crazy.

Continue reading on Medium >

Genre-Busted Fiction | Microfiction

The corpse, stretched out on its back on the kitchen floor, twitched.

“Seeing things,” said the detective, rubbing at weary eyes. She turned away to examine the pattern of blood spatters on the tiled walls.

When she turned back the corpse was sitting upright.

Continue reading at One Minute Wit >

War | Flash Fiction

“Sir? We’ve just received intel that suggests the enemy will be conducting a major strike at any moment.”

“What kind of strike?”

“Like nothing we’ve ever seen before. Sort of a… complete elimination, I suppose. The destruction of everything we’ve ever known.”

“Will you stop blabbering and get to the point. What are they planning?”

“They’re going to remove the carpets, sir.” Continue reading “War | Flash Fiction”

Remorse | Microfiction

The bandage had been wrapped around Catherine’s hand for three weeks.

“Come on, love,” said Mum. “Take it off, eh? You don’t need it anymore.”

“Yes I do.”

“It must be all healed up by now.”

“Maybe. But there’ll be a scar.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Because everybody has scars, love. Nobody will bat an eye.”

She will.”

Continue reading on Medium >

Sucker! | Short Story

Her chest heaves as she looks at the photograph of days long gone. Her and her big brother, eight and ten years old, throwing sand at each other on Brighton beach. A snapshot of childhood, back when summers seemed to stretch out for years rather than months, giving them hours upon hours of play and playfights to indulge in.

“Alright, love?”

She jumps at the sound of her husband’s voice and the photo frame slips from her hands and lands with a crack on the edge of the hearth.

“Fuck!”

“It’s alright, I’m sure it’s fine.”

She retrieves the frame, leaving chunks of smashed glass behind on the floor. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The tears fall fast.

“Hey, it’s okay. We can replace the frame easy enough, can’t we?” He takes the frame from her, swiftly removes the backing and hands her the photograph. “There’s something written on the back of that.”

The world seems to slow down around her. It’s like a spider has wandered across the page, its legs covered in ink. Her brother’s unmistakable scruffy handwriting.

Alright, knobhead! I KNEW you’d drop this frame. You’re so predictable. And stupidly clumsy.

Don’t feel too bad, the glass was already cracked. And it was 99p from Asda — you know me, I love a bargain.

Now, it’s time for a good old-fashioned TREASURE HUNT!

Continue reading on Medium >

Lucky | Microfiction

“What do you want for your birthday, Mum?”

“Oh, nothing! Don’t waste your money on me, pet.”

“I’m a millionaire, Mum. Let me spoil you!”

“I have everything I could ever need.”

“But what about something you want?” Continue reading “Lucky | Microfiction”