Bored? 15 Short Stories in English to Keep Yourself Engaged: E-Book

Nathan Bell

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Fachliteratur
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 107

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Bored? 15 Short Stories in English to Keep Yourself Engaged If you're searching for something that sparks your imagination and fills quiet moments with wonder, this collection is exactly what you've been waiting for. This isn't just a book—it's an open door to fifteen unforgettable worlds, each waiting to surprise, move, or enchant you in just the right amount of time. Whether you're between appointments, commuting, or winding down for the day, these stories offer rich, engaging escapes that never overstay their welcome. From haunting mysteries to light touches of fantasy, surreal encounters, and quiet reflections on life and time, each story is crafted to hold your attention from the very first line. You'll meet characters who live on the edge of the ordinary—and step just beyond it. Inside This Book, You'll Discover: A girl who sketches tomorrow with uncanny precision in "The Girl Who Drew the Future" An enchanted bookstore where the books whisper more than words in "Voices in the Bookstore" A boy who speaks only in riddles, guarding a truth deeper than language in "The Boy Who Spoke in Riddles" A sandwich shared with a time traveler that changes more than just the afternoon in "A Sandwich for the Time Traveler" A hidden map that leads not to treasure—but to something forgotten in "Lost and Found at the Edge of the Map" A mysterious painting that reveals more with each passing day in "The Mysterious Painting in Room 9" A lonely call in the dead of night from a voice lost to time in "Midnight Call from the Past" Each story stands alone, yet they all invite you to see the extraordinary hiding in the everyday. Perfect for intermediate English learners, casual readers, and anyone who loves a good short tale, this book is your passport to immersive storytelling in bite-sized pieces. Scroll Up and Grab Your Copy Today!

Leseprobe

Bored? 15 Short Stories in English to Keep Yourself Engaged

Fun, Easy-to-Read Stories That Improve Vocabulary While Entertaining You Anytime, Anywhere

Nathan Bell

Table of Content

The Clockmaker’s Apprentice

Rain on Mulberry Street

The Mysterious Painting in Room 9

Tuesdays with the Ghost Cat

The Umbrella That Never Closed

Midnight Call from the Past

The Boy Who Spoke in Riddles

A Sandwich for the Time Traveler

The Window Between Worlds

Grandpa’s Secret Radio

The Last Ticket to Anywhere

When the Statues Moved

Voices in the Bookstore

The Girl Who Drew the Future

Lost and Found at the Edge of the Map

Conclusion

© Copyright [2025] [Nathan Bell] All rights reserved.

- No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in a review or scholarly article.

- This is an original work of fiction [or non-fiction] by [Nathan Bell]. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Legal Notice:

The reader is solely responsible for any actions taken based on the information contained in this book. The author and publisher expressly disclaim any responsibility or liability for any damages or losses incurred by the reader as a result of such actions.

Disclaimer:

This book is intended for educational purposes only. The information contained within is not intended as, and should not be construed as medical, legal, or professional advice. The content is provided as general information and is not a substitute for professional advice or treatment.

This declaration is made for the purpose of asserting my legal ownership of the copyright in the Work and to serve as proof of ownership for any legal, publishing, or distribution purposes. I declare under penalty of perjury that the foregoing is true and correct.

There are days when the world feels still, when minutes stretch like hours and the silence between distractions grows just a little too loud. On days like that—whether you’re between tasks, waiting in line, riding the bus, or lying awake at night—it helps to have a doorway you can step through. A doorway not made of wood or glass, but of words. This book is that doorway.

Bored? 15 Short Stories in English to Keep Yourself Engaged is a collection born from the desire to turn idle time into meaningful moments. Each story is a self-contained universe designed to draw you in quickly, hold your attention tightly, and leave you with something—a smile, a shiver, a thought that lingers. You don’t need hours to enjoy these tales. You only need a quiet corner and a curious mind.

Inside, you’ll meet a girl who can sketch tomorrow, a boy who only speaks in riddles, a cat that appears every Tuesday with a ghostly agenda, and an apprentice who discovers the gears of time aren’t what they seem. You'll travel to bookstores where voices whisper through the shelves, to lost worlds found at the edge of hand-drawn maps, and to rainy streets where memory and magic slip through the cracks. These stories cross genres—mystery, fantasy, soft sci-fi, magical realism—but they all have one thing in common: they were made to keep you engaged.

This isn’t a book to race through. It’s one to dip into when the world feels a little too quiet or a little too loud. Think of it as your portable escape—fifteen small windows into something unexpected.

So if you’ve picked this up because you were bored… you won’t be for long.

Welcome to the stories. Your time here will be anything but ordinary.

The Clockmaker’s Apprentice

In the narrowest street of the oldest part of the city stood a little clock shop with windows that gleamed like secrets waiting to be discovered. Above the door hung a carved wooden sign shaped like a pocket watch, frozen forever at one minute past midnight. The sign didn’t creak or sway, even in the strongest winds. People said it had been ticking once, long ago, until something happened that stopped time in more ways than one. The shop was owned by an elderly clockmaker named Mr. Thorne, who was rumored to be as ancient as the bricks beneath the cobblestones. He spoke little, worked often, and rarely ventured beyond the threshold of his ticking sanctuary.

No one really knew how the apprentice came to be there. One day the sign still read "Thorne’s Timepieces," and the next, in smaller lettering just underneath, appeared a simple addition: "& Apprentice." That apprentice was a thin boy of about twelve, with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, who went by the name Eli. He never gave a last name, and Mr. Thorne never asked. The boy had a way with gears and springs that couldn’t be taught—not really. He touched them like they were alive, coaxing them to dance and whirl again. Some said Mr. Thorne had built the boy himself, like a clockwork child. Others believed he’d come from the alleys behind the baker’s where unwanted things often ended up. But the truth was simpler, stranger, and far more magical.

Eli remembered the day he stumbled into the shop. It had been raining, the kind of rain that drummed secrets onto rooftops and turned puddles into portals. He had no home, no plan, only a soaked jacket and a hunger gnawing deep in his belly. He'd ducked into the clock shop to escape the storm, expecting to be shouted at or shooed away. Instead, he found silence—thick and humming, like the pause between two heartbeats. Clocks of every size lined the walls, hung from the ceiling, even lay nestled on high shelves like sleeping birds. Every single one ticked differently, creating a chaotic symphony that somehow made sense if you listened long enough.

Mr. Thorne had looked up from his workbench, adjusted his brass-rimmed spectacles, and said, "Finally. I was wondering when you’d arrive."

No one had ever spoken to Eli like that—like he was expected. Like he belonged.

From that day forward, he was the apprentice. The shop became his world. Mornings were for polishing glass faces and dusting cuckoo clocks with feather brushes. Afternoons meant working alongside Mr. Thorne, learning the craft of time: how to coax a stubborn pendulum into rhythm, how to listen for the flaw in a heartbeat of seconds, how to wind a spring without breaking its spirit. Nights were for reading thick books full of strange diagrams and notes in margins written in the old man’s spidery hand.

But it wasn’t just about fixing clocks.

Eli soon discovered the shop had secrets. Sometimes a customer would bring in a watch that didn’t just stop—it had stolen hours, entire afternoons they swore had vanished. Other times, a grandfather clock would be dropped off after midnight, its chimes muffled as if they feared being heard. Mr. Thorne never turned them away. He worked on them all with quiet focus, and when he was done, the customer always left with more than they’d brought—though most of them didn’t realize it.

One evening, after polishing the last of the mantel clocks, Eli asked the question that had been bubbling in him for weeks. "Why do some clocks feel different?"

Mr. Thorne didn’t look up. "Because some clocks don’t just keep time," he said. "They carry it."

Eli didn’t fully understand until the night the girl appeared. She came in just as they were locking up, her coat soaked, eyes wild, and in her arms, a broken timepiece. It was a wristwatch—ordinary, except for the fact that it had no hands. Just a smooth silver face, like a mirror.

"It’s my father’s," she said, her voice trembling. "He gave it to me before he disappeared."

Mr. Thorne took the watch gently, examined it, and nodded once. "He left you more than a watch," he murmured.

For three days and nights, they worked on that piece. Mr. Thorne showed Eli things he’d never seen before—tools that shimmered with an otherworldly glow, springs that sang softly when stretched, tiny gears engraved with symbols that changed shape when you weren’t looking directly at them. As they worked, the shop itself seemed to hum with anticipation. The clocks began to sync, all ticking in perfect unison for the first time since Eli arrived.

On the final night, just past midnight, the watch clicked once. The mirror face rippled. A shape flickered across its surface—a man’s face, smiling, then fading like smoke.

The girl wept. Not because she was sad, but because somehow, she understood. The watch hadn’t brought her father back—but it had let her say goodbye.

After she left, Mr. Thorne sat in silence, staring at the empty workbench. Eli waited, not daring to speak.

"Some clocks," the old man finally said, "are built to remember."

Time moved differently after that. Days seemed to stretch or shrink depending on the work they were doing. Eli learned to tell the difference between regular clocks and the others—the memory clocks, the dream tickers, the ones that echoed. Some brought laughter when repaired, as if unlocking a joyful moment. Others brought a chill, reminding you that time, while precious, could also be cruel.

One day, Mr. Thorne handed Eli a pocket watch. It was gold, engraved with the same symbol as the shop sign, and heavier than it should’ve been. "It’s yours now," he said.

Eli opened it—and instead of hands, it had a small swirling light, like a tiny storm caught inside.

"You’ll know what to do with it when the time comes," the clockmaker added.

A week later, Mr. Thorne was gone.

No goodbye, no note. Just the quiet ticking of the clocks, all still in perfect harmony. Eli searched every inch of the shop, but there was no trace. Only the brass sign above the door had changed.

It now read: “Eli Thorne, Keeper of Time.”

He never questioned it.

From then on, people still came, bringing watches that skipped memories or clocks that whispered dreams in sleep. And Eli—now the clockmaker—repaired them all. He taught himself to listen, not just to the ticking of gears but to the stories they held. Every timepiece was a key. Some opened doors. Some closed them forever.

And at night, when the city quieted and the clocks played their song, Eli would open his pocket watch and watch the tiny storm within swirl gently, pulsing like a heartbeat. Sometimes it whispered to him. Other times it showed him places he hadn’t yet been. But always, always, it reminded him of the moment he stepped into the shop, rain-soaked and lost, and found not just shelter—but purpose.

Years would pass, and stories would spread. Children would press their faces to the shop’s windows, wondering why time seemed slower near the glass. Elders would pass by and smile, though they didn’t know why. And in the heart of the city, in the narrowest street of the oldest part, a boy once lost to time became its keeper, and the clocks never missed a beat again.

Rain on Mulberry Street

The rain fell on Mulberry Street with a kind of deliberate rhythm, not rushed, not hesitant—just persistent enough to soak through coats and memories. The cobblestones glistened like polished glass, the gutters ran with streams thick with leaves and paper, and the air held that earthy, electric scent that only came with a long, determined storm. Most of the shops had closed early, their signs swinging gently in the wind, their lights dimmed. But one window remained lit on the third floor of a faded brick building wedged between a tailor’s and a forgotten bookstore.

That window belonged to Iris Mallory.

Iris was sixteen, and she had lived on Mulberry Street her entire life. She had watched it change, watched people come and go like the seasons, watched businesses open with hope and close with silent defeat. But the rain never changed. It returned like a reliable friend—sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce, but always familiar. That evening, she sat at her desk with her cheek pressed to the glass, her breath fogging the pane slightly as she traced the drops with her fingertip. She didn’t know why this particular storm felt different. Just that it did.