Short Stories – Laurel Luehmann

A Christmasy short story, anyone? (did I mention it’s free?)

December 15, 2025by Laurel LuehmannLeave a Comment

It was the 20th of December, and for an entire month the smells of gingerbread and homemade fudge had filled the farmhouse kitchen, secrets had been exchanged in whispers behind hands, and Randy Travis’ Christmas album had been played more than a dozen times through the boombox. The month had borne all the earmarks of a Werner family Christmas…except for the one that was most important in Grace Werner’s eyes.

There was no snow. At least out of doors.

Last year I wrote a short Christmas story about a (fictional) little girl I’d gotten to know quite well after spending a few years writing a story about a baker, a deputy, and a farmer who happened to be Grace’s older brother. Grace was never a main character in that book, but anyone who’s met her on the page knows that she’s most definitely main character material. (Major levels of sweetness and sass will do that for a seven-year-old.)

All Grace wants is to make Christmas 2001 absolutely perfect for her family. Is that too much for a seven-year-old to ask? But she can’t wrap gifts as well as her mother, or decorate cookies that look as nice as Grandma’s, and to top it all off the sky won’t yield even a single snowflake! Her dreams for a perfect Christmas seem to be crumbling as fast as her sugar cookies, but could it be that there’s more to a perfect Christmas than perfection?

This Christmas, join Grace and her family in their blustery corner of the Midwest for a chuckle-inducing adventure that will warm your heart and possibly leave you craving a plate of sugar cookies.

I reread this story last week, and it was such a treat to revisit all of Grace’s mishaps and adventures. (I honestly had forgotten how I’d resolved the story, so it was sweet to read that part like it was the first time, hehe!)

If you love all of the close-knit family vibes, humorous little kids, and the chance to visit a rural Midwest community via the written word, this story might be for you. 😉

Read about Grace’s story here!

You can also add it on Goodreads here, if you’re a Goodreads person.

Aaand, in case you want the Christmas soundtrack Grace had (and the one I had while writing this story)…here ’tis.

Happy reading, friends! I hope the story brings a smile or two.

-Laurel

reading, Short Stories, writing updates

I’m releasing a short story!

December 12, 2024December 12, 2024by Laurel LuehmannLeave a Comment

Hello, friends!

I’ve been quieter on the blog lately because I’ve been working to pour more into my (mostly)weekly newsletter. I’m so grateful for my newsletter gang, and this Christmas that group gets a special gift: a short story with all of the cozy, nostalgic Christmas-y feels.

This Christmas, join Grace and her family in their blustery corner of the Midwest for a chuckle-inducing adventure that will warm your heart and possibly leave you craving a plate of sugar cookies.

I didn’t think one could get so excited about such a simple story, but here I am, proving myself wrong. XD I adore these characters (borrowed from the novel I’m prepping from publication), and seeing them in a Christmas setting and through the eyes of a seven-year-old has been such a delight. I don’t think you want to miss it.:)

You can also add it on Goodreads here.

I hope you’re having a wonderful December! ❤

-Laurel

Flash Fiction, Short Stories

Empty Reflection – Flash Fiction

March 7, 2022by Laurel Luehmann10 Comments

It was the kind of forest to which one fled when one’s soul was full of pain, fear, or secrets. His bore all three.

The wild crashing of his boots through the underbrush calmed as his strength waned. He was not a weak man; muscles strained beneath the sleeves that the saplings’ fingers had shredded, but even the simplest of village doctors knew that losing too much blood could kill the strongest man.

Especially a man who had lost his will to live.

He slumped against the nearest tree and slid to the ground. Twigs and dead leaves crackled beneath him. He closed his eyes and groaned, gasping for the breath that drove daggers through his lungs.

His hair – not trimmed in months – fell across his face in a matted mess. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d combed it. Since…that day…he’d seen no reason for caring for himself.

No reason for living.

He groaned again, almost a scream this time, as the pain intensified and blurred his vision. The trees that filtered dying sunlight gave way to smeared browns and greens, swirling in a dizzying dance. He blinked and the blur cleared into a face.

Her face.

He gasped with pain again, and something in him kept him from shaking her image from his mind.

“Gable.” The memory of her voice was gentle, quiet…urgent. Her eyes held onto his, and once again he saw in them their pleading.

Her pleading.

“Gable…you are more than this.”

He clawed for his leather knapsack and dug in the front pocket. His blood-crusted fingers closed around something, and he yanked it up before his eyes, staring. Staring at the piece of himself reflected in the tiny mirror.

He forced himself not to wince. He made himself take in the dirty hair, the beard full of leaves, the young scars, the bloodshot eyes.

He met them with bold recklessness, staring deep into the eyes as though searching for a treasure he’d buried there long ago. Desperate for some affirmation that her words were true…that he hadn’t lost the last hope of being the man she’d believed he could be.

He searched in agony.

He couldn’t find it.

This time the groan was a roar, and he flung the mirror away. It shattered against the rock face that rose before him, and he turned his face away, gritting his teeth.

“You know I was right, Fern. You know I was right.”

Delirium carried his mind away, taking it on a wearying journey through pieces of his past. He saw again his mother, laughing and applauding as she watched him fight off imaginary enemies with his wooden sword. His father teaching him how to adjust his hold on the sword, how to lunge, how to thrust, how to twist the blade just so.

And Fern. Ever Fern.

Laughing with and at him. Listening to his wild stories, his clumsy jokes, his deepest fears. Calming his soul. In the reflection he’d caught in her eyes, he’d seen a hero. A bold warrior. A worthy man.

“This is not who you are, Gable!”

He remembered the flash he’d rarely seen in her eyes. Anger. Righteous anger. It had snapped in her eyes and lit a kindred fire in his heart.

“You tell me who I’m going to be?”

He’d stormed off without her…but a piece of him hoped she was right.

Even in his delirium he tried to shove away the memory that came next. His groaning rose, and he gasped her name.

“I never meant…I never meant to leave you for life…”

The trees swirled into darkness, and miles away, even more years away, he saw two teenagers: young, clueless, blinded by hope.

“I will always, always be there for you, Fern. Always.”

He had never seen eyes so trusting. “I know you will, Gable.” The breeze carried her voice now from years ago… “And I’ll be here for you.”

“Where are you now?” His scream bounced off of the rock face. “Where are you now?”

Screaming at her ghost felt better than acknowledging his own broken promise…for a moment. But silence – as always, now – met his question, and he sobbed.

“But I couldn’t…I couldn’t have protected you. I couldn’t have saved you, Fern…”

Some enemies, he’d learned, could not be fought off with a sword.

I wrote this one from the prompt words mirror, iliad, empathy, blood, toss, and crack. This was meant to be a stand-alone flash fiction piece, but now I want to know more about this story! XD

Photo by Tom Morel on Unsplash

Flash Fiction, Reluctant Hero - Flash Fiction Series, Short Stories

Reluctant Hero – Christmas Edition

December 23, 2021December 23, 2021by Laurel Luehmann8 Comments

Hello friends!

As promised, here is a Christmas story for you all, starring Ryan. If you haven’t met him before, go check out his previous adventures here for a little background on this story. (Although it should still make sense even if you haven’t read the previous stories.:))

This is just a goofy little piece, and I hope it’ll bring a smile to your face!😊

“Ryan! We’re going to build a gingerbread house with graham crackers and frosting and stuff!”

Cameron grabs my left hand and drags me through the doorway into the living room. “Come on! Mommy has everything ready in the kitchen!” He stares up at me, cocking his head. “Oh, yeah, Mommy told me to take your coat.”

I shrug it off and hand it to the five-year-old. He throws it over his shoulders like a cape and swoops into the kitchen screaming the Batman theme song. I shiver and take a deep breath, squeezing sweaty palms into fists.

I can do this.

After all, last time wasn’t that bad. The two and a half hours of babysitting I did for the Winters’ ended in three sleeping children, only one broken dish, and minimal scratches. I’m getting this babysitting thing down.

It’s the gingerbread house that scares me.

After waving goodbye to Mrs. Winters (once I confirm with her three times that she’ll be gone for only two hours), Cameron and Holly spin away from the front window and race for the kitchen table. I charge after them, socks skidding on the hardwood, remembering the multiple bowls of candy sitting within perfect toddler reach.

“Hey, hold up!”

Cameron bounces up and down, gripping the edge of the table. “Let’s make the best. Gingerbread house. EVER!” His scream turns into a roar, and I grimace.

“I want mine to have lots of gumdrops,” Holly mumbles, pulling her thumb out of her mouth long enough to grab a gumdrop from the nearest bowl.

“Hey, wait, first we have to build the house!” I shove the bowl out of reach and grab the box of graham crackers.

Miraculously I manage to construct one small house out of the graham crackers without their curious fingers poking it into a heap… although by the time we’re ready to decorate it, a few of our ornaments have disappeared behind two little pairs of red-stained lips.

“Dude, I’m serious, you have to stop eating the candy. You won’t be hungry for supper.” I wrestle a peppermint candy from Cameron’s sticky palm.

He shrugs. “I don’t care. We’re having chicken noodle soup for supper.” The gag that follows tells me that the aforementioned soup is not a favorite.

“Well, anyway, if you keep eating everything, we won’t have anything to decorate the house with.” I squirt a bunch of icing onto the roof of the house. “Okay, what do you guys want to put on the roof?”

“Gumdrops!” Holly yells.

“No, peppermints!” Cameron roars in her face, and I cover my ears.

“Hey, how about both?” I pull them away from each other and hand each one a bowl of their preferred candy.

“Jake’s screaming,” Holly says, poking her first gumdrop onto the roof.

“I’ll get him,” I say, jumping up from the table. “Don’t eat any more candy while I’m gone.”

It takes me thirty seconds to dash to the nursery, scoop up the butterball, and lug him back to the kitchen.

It took Cameron and Holly thirty seconds to topple our graham cracker structure and start a highly-competitive screaming competition.

I glance at my watch.

One hour and forty-five minutes to go.

Photo by Randalyn Hill on Unsplash