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Winners of the 2019 Goodreads New Authors short story competition will be featured here. Watch out for this space!

The results of the short story competition are as follows:
1st prize Beatrice Williams🏆
2nd prize Catherine Habbie🏆
3rd prize Simon Bradley🏆

We shall feature all three authors here. Repost and peruse the winning stories in detail.

Thanks GB. I am overwhelmed.☺️

Congratulations to all the winners

First prize winner:
🏆Beatrice Williams~ The Monster Baby

The shrill loud pitched wail wafted through the entire coach and filled each compartment. In those few seconds people revisited their personal hell. Memories of the worst days in their life, came flooding by. The fall, the scraped knee, the break up, death, they flashed upon the inward eye. Cries of despair, with death like clarity, never experienced this close before. Then the mother played a melancholy tune on the music box, and her baby was calm again. The people in the train went back to their dreams of a happy future, some got the girl, the dream job, some won the lottery, and some found the winning ticket. Some were about to call out the winning numbers of the lottery 10 22 11, but low and behold, the cruel tune wafted in the compartment again, waking them up from their wishful dreams. The mother of the baby desperately tried to keep the baby quiet again. She played on a tiny music box, wound it up twice and it played a soulful tune. While it played, the baby was silent and people around had a rush of memories flood into their head. War scenes flooded on the window screens, alternating between lush green pastures and images of their happy childhood, sweet teenage loves, being popular, some even went back to the times they were about to win a coveted trophy. The cup was in their outstretched hand, almost within their grasp, when suddenly, all the dreams collapsed midway. The people woke up in cold sweat, for the music had stopped, and the baby was wailing again. The passengers didn’t know what was real anymore. They were willing to trade the awful siren sound for more dollops of their delicious past. They were willing to trade their soul for it to the devil! The mother played the lullaby tune on the instrument. Again the baby piped down and so did all the people, who began to dream again. They were right in the middle of the darkest nightmares, but the horrible prospect of death by sound, made them close their eyelids tighter. They had made a pact with the devil no less, for bliss from the screeching noise. When the doors of the compartment opened at the last station, only the mother came out wheeling the pram with the baby sleeping peacefully inside it. The driver looked through the windows of the sound-proof cabin, into the compartment for more passengers to get off, but as usual there were none. The compartment was empty. Did he always imagine a train load of passengers that disappeared again or were they a figment of his imagination? He looked outside the station, through its rickety gates. In the distance, he could see the mum, wheeling her pram on the empty street, towards a stone-grey castle, a pointy red tail swishing out between the pram wheels. Then the baby peeped out of the pram and smiled at him, still standing in the station aptly called ‘Devil’s-Quay’.

Second Prize Winner
🏆Catherine Habbie
The Mighty Wurlitzer

David O’Toole watched the eyes of the visitors, show emotions ranging from morbid curiosity, to that of sheer terror in a matter of seconds. He prided himself on having procured it in under 5 minutes of entry to the museum.
The Musical Museum housed a number of ancient instruments. But the most popular among them all, was the pipe organ called ‘The Mighty Wurlitzer’. The last remaining relic, of an era gone by.
On a typical day, the machine arose like a phoenix from the depths of the stage and lit up eerily in purple, leaving goose bumps on the flesh of the audience. David then took the velvet-cushioned seat and played haunting melodies all evening.
He watched with sadistic pleasure as the people squirmed in their seats with inexplicable terror. The lights were dimmed, and if someone touched their shoulders, they were sure to die of fright.
The climax was when he played the last melody, and an unobtrusive piano to his right, began playing by itself! There were never any announcements made, someone always noticed them and whispers passed along the hall in subdued echoes.
Then David would take a bow, and the audience would be still glued to their seats, numb-struck by the eerie phenomenon. Not one of them had heard of the automated machines in the year 1924. David had tweaked the machines as a little private joke at the audience’s expense.
For twenty years, David played with sardonic pleasure, and the museum had a surge in audience with each passing year. In 1925, it had its first casualty. An old patron of the museum did die, when the eerie beats, reached a crescendo. He was but the first among many in the years to come.
On the last evening, David began playing. He smirked as his piece de resistant, was about to begin. He pressed the automated switch to make the electric piano begin playing, but there was no response! He walked over to inspect the piano, when all of a sudden, the Wurlitzer arose a few inches from its platform and settled on a cushion of air. David blinked his eyes. Then the Wurlitzer began glowing in the most grotesque colours, and playing the most haunting melodies by itself. Davis was confused, the wrong machine was playing! He looked at the audience, expecting to see fear on their faces, but all he saw were eerie pale faces leering at him. He thought he recognised a few dead men among them. Were they the men that died in this hall? Was this retribution? He broke into cold sweat. He tried to play, but his fingers would not move anymore. His heart suddenly seemed very heavy and breathing became restricted.
As the audience filed out quietly from the hall later that evening, they could not but remark, that they had assumed it was all part of the act. They had heard rumours of the automated machine, but had never expected to see such a horrible death.

🏆Third Prize Winner
Bradley Simon

The Forgotten Soldier

People often wondered if they had imagined it all; the night that changed the face of the village from a dreary idyll, to what it is now, a bustling place with pizzazz.
It all began last Halloween. The last cantankerous child had gone to bed and the whole town was fast asleep. The workers of the mining community were a hard-working bunch. They awoke in the wee hours of the morning and climbed down to the fiery pits of hell to earn their living. So by midnight, the whole town was indeed fast asleep or was it?
Mr. Mcloughlin fell sick that night, and could not sleep due to the fever and began to stroll around the village until he reached the town square. To his horror, he saw 12 pale ghosts arise from the plaques of the dead soldiers in the war memorial, and march around the town square in deathly pallor. They reached the statue of the forgotten soldier, stopped, saluted it and disappeared back into the plaques leaving a trail of footprints all around the town square.
Mr. Mcloughlin watched from behind the corner shop afraid to breathe, lest he was made to join the eerie band of soldiers. He went back home stupefied beyond words. The next morning, he told the tale to the miners in the pit. They did not believe a word until they noticed the white footprints in the town centre. Soon word spread, people came from all around the countryside to observe the anomaly. But although they were out all night, they could not see the spirits.
McClellan was the laughing stock of the village for days. Life had caught him at its lowest ebb. He retraced his steps to the spot every night hoping to see a sceptre, but to no avail. Did he dream that all up on Halloween night? Eventually it dawned on him that he was just delirious with fever. What about the white footsteps? He pondered all night. He never left his perch behind the statue of the brave soldier. Most villagers that passed him by, had thought he had lost his sense as they had always suspected, and left him to it. In the morning, he observed the miners trudge down into the pits to work and by nightfall when they returned, their feet left white footsteps all around the town. Eureka! He had the ghost now!
If all went to plan, he would lose the moniker of ‘Mr. White Footsteps’ this very day. Dawn broke, the pink gloves touched the inky night sky and left blush marks all over her face. The first miners came trudging up the path. A heavy metallic sound roused them from their reverie. They looked up to their horror to find the forgotten soldier come alive! They were rooted for a few seconds to their spot, then they fled for their dear lives. Hollering at the top of their voices.
There was never a dull moment in the village now.

Grasshopper wrote: "The results of the short story competition are as follows:
1st prize Beatrice Williams🏆
2nd prize Catherine Habbie🏆
3rd prize Simon Bradley🏆

We shall feature all three authors here. Repost and per..."
Thanks GB. This is an honour.

Well done winners. You probably deserve it.

Thanks everyone. It's an honour to be selected. Looking forward to the book 😊

Great effort! Felicitations.

Well done everyone and Congratulations to the winners!

As promised all the winners and contributors feature in the book
Goodreads Best Short Stories 2019

Thrilled with the brilliant response.