Pseudopod
By Ben Phillips & Alasdair Stuart
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Podcast Description
The Sound of Horror. Pseudopod is the world\'s first audio horror magazine. We deliver bone-chilling stories from today\'s most talented authors straight to your computer or MP3 player.
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1 |
ExplicitPseudopod 282: Flash On The Borderlands XI - Fearful Fashions | Three flash fictions about the sharpest cut on the newest thread, the latest craze that's all the rage ... A MOTHER OF MONSTERS by Guy De Maupassant. Henri Reneacute; Albert Guy de Maupassant (1850 ndash; 1893) was a popular 19th-century French writer, considered one of the fathers of the modern short story and one of the form's finest exponents. He delighted in clever plotting, and taking his cue from Balzac, he wrote comfortably in both the high-Realist and fantastic modes; many of his short stories (notably "Le Horla") describe apparently supernatural phenomena. However, the supernatural in Maupassant is often implicitly a symptom of the protagonists' troubled minds, as Maupassant was fascinated by the burgeoning discipline of psychiatry. In his later years he developed a constant desire for solitude, an obsession for self-preservation, and a fear of death and crazed paranoia of persecution, that came from the syphilis he had contracted in his early days. On January 2, in 1892, Maupassant tried to commit suicide by cutting his throat and was committed to a celebrated private asylum at Passy, in Paris, where he died on July 6, 1893. This story was originally published in 1885 and can be read here. Read by B.J. Harrison, of The Classic Tales fame - who's new audiobook version of "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux should be available, at the link, as we speak. ""The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given birth to a demon. From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'" 10 DARLINGS AND AN HANDBAG by Violet Glaze. Ms. Glaze's work has appeared in numerous online and print venues in the US (including Bizarro, Baltimore Magazine, City Paper, Popmatters.com and Urbanite) and the UK (THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK: MOVIES). Violet is also the author of paranormal erotic novel HOTEL BUTTERFLY (2009) and and the short story collection I AM GENGHIS CUM (2010) (where this story first appeared), and her short fiction appears in the anthology WEREWOLVES AND SHAPESHIFTERS: ENCOUNTERS WITH THE BEATS WITHIN (2010). Read by Marguerite Kenner. Check out previous Escape Artists stories she's read: "Machine Washable" and "Movement". "He clucked his tongue. "Maternal love will swamp the earth. Everyone wants to keep their baby healthy. Think about what that means for someone else."" FORBIDDEN FEAST AT THE ARMAGEDDON CAFE by John Nakamura Remy. John is a recent graduate of the Clarion West workshop, and "Forbidden Feast" is his first publication. It appeared earlier this year in the anthology, RIGOR AMORTIS. Read by Kane Lynch, a cartoonist based in Oakland who recently completed the graphic novel THE RELICS. Click the link to read it online. "Takeshi certainly knew how to treat a boy. The restaurant captured the apocalypse nouveau aesthetic perfectly. Adam admired the axe and shotgun damage and savored the taste of damp smoke. His hips moved to the elongated screams and machine gun beat of judgment punk." | 5/18/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 281: The Women Who Watch | by Thomas Owen Translated by Edward Gauvin This story first appeared in the 1972 collection LA TRUIE (THE SOW). This translation appeared in late February in the first issue of The Dr. T.J. Eckleburg Review (formerly The Moon Milk Review). It can be read here Thomas Owen (real name Geacute;rald Bertot) (1910-2002) worked all his life in the management of the same flour-milling factory. He held a doctorate in criminology, and a side career in art criticism under the pseudonym Steacute;phane Rey. Spared service in World War II, he turned to writing mysteries for money, with the encouragement of Stanislas-Andreacute; Steeman, a celebrated craftsman of Belgian noir. In TONIGHT AT EIGHT (from 1941), he introduced the police commissioner Thomas Owenmdash;a character whose name he liked so much he later took it as his own when he embarked on what he has called his true calling, his career as a fantasist. An existential dread, one that Thomas Ligotti correctly identified (in a blurb where he name-checked Owen) as ldquo;the nightmare of being aliverdquo;, emanates from Owenrsquo;s oeuvre of several hundred stories - the best word for Owenrsquo;s fiction is unsettling. The 1984 volume THE DESOLATE PRESENCE draws from six of Owenrsquo;s seven major collections for its 22 tales, and was the only current English translation of Owen's work available, and is currently out of print. Both of those details may soon change. Edward Gauvin is the winner of the John Dryden Translation prize, a Clarion graduate, he has received fellowships from the NEA, the Fulbright Program, and the American Literary Translators' Association. His volume of Georges-Olivier Chacirc;teaureynaudrsquo;s selected stories, A Life on Paper (Small Beer, 2010) won the Science Fiction #38; Fantasy Translation Award. Other publications have appeared in F#38;SF, Podcastle, Postscripts, Conjunctions, Subtropics, and Tin House. He translates comics for Top Shelf, Self-Made Hero, Archaia, and Lerner. He also writes a monthly column on ldquo;the Weird in translationrdquo; for the VanderMeersrsquo; Weird Fiction Review. He would also like to mention this graphic novel, Billy Fog and the Gift of Trouble Sight for lovers of the macabre ldquo;I think of it as Edward Gorey meets Calvin and Hobbes. If you like it, sequels are forthcoming!rdquo;. Your reader this week is Pete Milan who does a lot of voice work with Pendant Audio, on their fan shows (we do a series of DC Comics-based audio dramas) and originals (I'm a writer and performer on their sci-fi serial, The Kingery, among others)... "'Do you know that woman?' he asked the waiter. 'What woman?' 'The one in the corner just now.' The waiter gave the man a look as if he were joking, and assured him no one had been sitting there. He seemed sincere, and gave no reason to believe hersquo;d been in cahoots with the woman. Of course something had to burst his bubble. At the foot of the abandoned chair, he spotted the forgotten shopping bag. Out peered the green of leeks, wrapped in newspaper. The man didnrsquo;t insist. He was too happy to have escaped the evil spell." | 5/10/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 280: The Meat Forest | by John Haggerty This story first appeared in Shock Totem #3, published a year ago. John Haggerty is a writer living in Northern California. His stories have appeared in Confrontation, The Los Angeles Review and The Santa Monica Review, among others. He is currently at work on a novel about greed, gambling, religion, sex and death set in the deserts of Nevada. It's a comedy! Your reader this week is Corson Bremer. Corson has been in the business of communication for almost thirty years, spanning two continents, and as a stage actor, writer, director and voice talent, he has participated in more than 100 stage plays, readings and radio drama productions. These skills also fueled a 9-year career in radio as a presenter and as a writer, producer and voice talent for commercials, branding, audio books and video games (including RED STEEL 2). He would like interested parties to check out the Voice Artists United Network (VAU) website (click name for link - also on Facebook, LinkedIn, and MySpace), where he's an admin. It's dedicated to very serious VO professionals. That doesn't mean just "stars" or the very experienced VO's, it's for people who have already made and/or are making a real effort to break into the industry. We welcome people as members if they have a "web presence" showing that they work in or are MAKING A BIG EFFORT to work in VO (like their own voice acting website or profile on the web... even if it's just a free one on Voice123.com or Voices.com or Bodalgo.com). Check it out and tell your friends! "Dmitri laughed in my face. 'Who is going to stop me? I do what I want.' He looked out into the drizzly evening. 'I can get you out of here. Do you want to go?' 'What? Out of the camp? How?' 'How do you think?' He nodded toward the gray forest that crowded the perimeter, where the electrodes got too weak to keep it out. 'Through that.' 'Through the forest? I thought it was impossible.' Dmitri tilted his head up. Beneath his jaw were tattoos of two menrsquo;s heads, done with red and black ink. Their faces were contorted in an expression of horror; their eyes closed. He pointed to them. 'Do you know what they mean?' he asked. I shook my head. 'Irsquo;ve gotten through it twice. The only man in New Russia. Irsquo;ll take you.' He paused, looking me up and down. 'Itrsquo;s probably a lost cause. I donrsquo;t think yoursquo;ll make it. But if yoursquo;re interested, come to my hut tonight.' I looked back out at the forest. It wavered in and out of focus in the rain, gray and silent. When I turned back around, Dmitri was already gone." | 5/4/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 279: Gingerbread And Ashes | by Jaelithe Ingold This story was first published in Arcane Magazine (later renamed Arcane Sampler) in March of 2011. Jaelithe Ingold is a dark fantasy writer living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She used to prepare fossils for display at the Carnegie Museum and is now a retail manager. Her work has appeared in Shock Totem, Abyss #38; Apex and Dark Recesses. Your reader this week is Pete Milan who does a lot of voice work with Pendant Audio, on their fan shows (we do a series of DC Comics-based audio dramas) and originals (I'm a writer and performer on their sci-fi serial, The Kingery, among others)... "The roof of the gingerbread house has long been gone, and green mold covers the sides like a copper patina, but the air surrounding it is still sweet. Sugar gone bad with the passage of time and the death of its caretaker. Last week, Gretel vanished from our home. Shersquo;s been lured away, I think, by something bad, for this is the only reason she would willingly leave me. Has she come here lately? Thatrsquo;s the question at the forefront of my mind. We donrsquo;t talk about it, but I know shersquo;s been here before. Many times since the witchrsquo;s death. And I havenrsquo;t always been able to resist either. The sweet rot of the place both rumbles and turns my stomach, yet still it calls to me. We havenrsquo;t been children for a very long time, but if I remember hard enough, the sensation remains. The taste still melts on my tongue." | 4/26/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 278: The Prophet’s Daughters | by Michael J. DeLuca This story originally appeared, simultaneously in French and English, at Onirismes.com in Spring 2011 (still available at the link). Sybaris was a real city, a wealthy Greek colony founded in Italy in the 8th century BC, destroyed by flood in the sixth century when its enemies diverted a river through the city's streets in retribution for its citizens' greed. From whence the word "sybaritic", a very fine synonym for "self-indulgent", has descended into modern English. Michael J. DeLuca attended the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2005, helps run the indie ebook site Weightless Books, has volunteered at Small Beer Press for longer than he cares to admit, and is a member of the Homeless Moon writers' cabal. His short stories have appeared in Interfictions, Apex, Clockwork Phoenix and The Future Fire. If you like this story, you might try his series of centaur westerns, which are similarly Classics-infused and brutal, and can be found in the archives (some in audio form) at Beneath Ceaseless Skies. His website, The Mossy Skull, can be found at the link under his name at the top. Also check out Literary Beer at the Small Beer website and his profile at Writertopia for a list of previous work. Your reader this week is Tina Connolly whose debut dark fantasy IRONSKIN is forthcoming this October from Tor. Not horror, but definitely dark. Also, be sure to check out Tina's own weekly short fiction podcast at TOASTED CAKE. ""Do you wonder, my brothers in service of death, what powers the prophet takes with her on her voyage down the Acheron? We all do, I suspect: all of us from Sybaris who felt the lash of her tongue. She told many bleak fates. We all wonder which she is waiting yet to fulfill--or else I suspect so many wouldn't have come to bestow such gifts!" He cackled. Melia's fingernails dug into Io's palm; Io gripped her sister tighter. No one said a word to silence him. The priest only played his lyre. "Now let me think," death's taskmaster rambled, helping a mourner to hoist up the corpse of a heavy black calf, "What do the ancients teach on the subject of power after death? "Sheshet, astronomer priestess of Egypt, achieved deathly might through preservation. She took her own life by drowning, at the age of twenty-nine. Her cult preserved her flesh and organs whole in vats of lotus honey. It is said she left plans for her own resurrection, and any man who walks within miles of her tomb dies of fever before the next moonrise."" | 4/19/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 277: The Orchard of Hanging Trees | by Nicole Cushing This story is previously unpublished. The story is also available to read online at The Repository forum of | 4/12/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 276: Our Drunken Tjeng | by Nicky Drayden This story originally saw publication on the Daily Science Fiction website in 2011 and can still read there at this link. Nicky Drayden is a Systems Analyst who dabbles in prose when she's not buried in code. She resides in Austin, Texas where being weird is highly encouraged, if not required. To see more of her work, click the link under her name, above. Your reader this week is Laurice White. Click her name to visit her website or check her out at Voice123. Non-audio produced version of the story is available as the second option below. " With a fine bone knife I make my incision, cutting back the sticky membrane of Our Tjeng's hull. I slip my hand inside and carefully widen the tear until it's big enough for me to step through. Our Tjeng has blessed Kae and me with gills to breathe within his walls. The viscous liquid is clear and burns my eyes, tart and slick on my tongue. He's drunk as always, Our Tjeng, our fathership. And yet he leads our flock across the stars. Him and his bulging, sick liver -- big as a hundred men, and it shouldn't even be half that size. I swim towards Kae as she shaves tumor from flesh a slice at a time. Her firm muscles tense and flex beneath her hairless, pink skin. She cusses Our Tjeng, her words crisp her words warped slightly by the liquid. I touch her shoulder. She startles. "Your time is up," I tell her. We're civil. There's too much at stake not to be. The flock cannot afford to lose another fathership, and Our Tjeng needs us caretakers to keep him functioning.'" "Our Drunken Tjeng" used the following sounds from Freesound to make the Fathership soundscape. "earthscan1" by irad "deep pulse_02.L-Joined" by martian "Ambient Darkness" by DJ Chronos "Single Heartbeat HQ_BeatSmith" by Lunardrive "heartbeat regular" by zimm | 4/5/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 275: Wailing Well | by M.R. James One of the masters of ghost story writing - he codified the subgenre of "the antiquarian ghost story". Click the link under his name to read more. Almost all of his works are now in the public domain. This tale was written in 1927 to be read 'round the campfire to Scouts at their summer camp. It can be read online here "Two ingredients most valuable in the concocting of a ghost story are the atmosphere and the nicely managed crescendo.hellip; Let us, then, be introduced to the actors in a placid way; let us see them going about their ordinary business, undisturbed by forebodings, pleased with their surroundings; and into this calm environment let the ominous thing put out its head, unobtrusively at first, and then more insistently, until it holds the stage. Another requisite, in my opinion, is that the ghost should be malevolent or odious: amiable and helpful apparitions are all very well in fairy tales or in local legends, but I have no use for them in a fictitious ghost story.'" Your reader this week is David Moore - click his name to visit his Livejournal page. David works for Solaris and Abaddon Books, reads stories for DARK FICTION audio magazine (check out some stories he's narrated here, here #38; here) and has a story coming up in the April 4th released anthology PANDEMONIUM: STORIES IN THE SMOKE, in which Charles Dickens is given the genre treatment. He has earned the gentle ministrations of our tentacles and our unending gratitude for a late-game save! "'I donrsquo;t know as therersquo;s anything much wrong with the water,' said the shepherd. 'All I know is, my old dog wouldnrsquo;t go through that field, let alone me or anyone else thatrsquo;s got a morsel of brains in their heads.' 'More fool them,' said Stanley Judkins, at once rudely and ungrammatically. 'Who ever took any harm going there?' he added. 'Three women and a man,' said the shepherd gravely. 'Now just you listen to me. I know these rsquo;ere parts and you donrsquo;t, and I can tell you this much: for these ten years last past there ainrsquo;t been a sheep fed in that field, nor a crop raised off of it mdash; and itrsquo;s good land, too. You can pretty well see from here what a state itrsquo;s got into with brambles and suckers and trash of all kinds. Yoursquo;ve got a glass, young gentleman,' he said to Wilfred Pipsqueak, 'you can tell with that anyway.' 'Yes,' said Wilfred, 'but I see therersquo;s tracks in it. Someone must go through it sometimes.' 'Tracks!' said the shepherd. 'I believe you I see four tracks: three women and a man.' 'What drsquo;you mean, three women and a man?' said Stanley, turning over for the first time and looking at the shepherd (he had been talking with his back to him till this moment: he was an ill-mannered boy). 'Mean? Why, what I says: three women and a man.' 'Who are they?' asked Algernon. 'Why do they go there?' 'Therersquo;s some prsquo;rrsquo;aps could tell you who they was,' said the shepherd, 'but it was afore my time they come by their end. And why they goes there still is more than the children of men can tell: except Irsquo;ve heard they was all bad lsquo;uns when they was alive.''" | 3/30/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 274: The God Complex | by Neil John Buchanan "The God Complex" was originally published in the Terminal Earth anthology by Poundlit Press. Neil John Buchanan (click his name above for his website) lives in the south-west of England with three manic cats, two small children and a long-suffering, sympathetic wife. He is a horror fiction writer with work published in various online and print venues such as Pseudopod, Drabblecast, Necrotic Tissue and Morpheus Tales. He also writes for STARBURST magazine and he's in the final editing stages of a steampunk/fantasy/horror mash-up novella entitled CLOCKWORK KNIGHTS. Your reader this week is Rashida Smith - click her name to visit Eddygirl! "She recognized an Echo drone when she saw one. Probably a scout sent to investigate the crash. 'Pheromone discharge detected,' the suit chimed, and the helmet slammed shut. A moment later, a tube expanded from the dronersquo;s underbelly, and a thin spray of liquid splashed across Nadiarsquo;s visor. 'I am God,' it pronounced. 'Do you come in love?'" | 3/22/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 273: The Crucifixion of the Outcast | by William Butler Yeats This story was originally published in 1897 in THE SECRET ROSE. It is available to read online in a number of spots including here Yeats (1865-1939) was winner of the Nobel Prize and Ireland's greatest poet and dramatist. The son of a renowned Dublin artist, he was educated partly in Ireland and partly in London and during this time formed an interest in occultism. Later, drawing on his experiences with his relatives in Sligo, he began to write on folklore, the first results being published in 1893 as THE CELTIC TWILIGHT. This title was subsequently used to label a school of writing that attempted a renaissance of ancient Irish culture. Yeats' style in prose - like in his poetry - is gloriously varied: from light, beautiful tales of unworldly fantasy to grim and horrifying parables of death and cruelty. Read for us by the redoubtable Wilson Fowlie (begorra!) "His eyes strayed from the Abbey tower of the White Friars and the town battlements to a row of crosses which stood out against the sky upon a hill a little to the eastward of the town, and he clenched his fist, and shook it at the crosses. He knew they were not empty, for the birds were fluttering about them; and he thought how, as like as not, just such another vagabond as himself was hanged on one of them; and he muttered: 'If it were hanging or bowstringing, or stoning or beheading, it would be bad enough. But to have the birds pecking your eyes and the wolves eating your feet! I would that the red wind of the Druids had withered in his cradle the soldier of Dathi, who brought the tree of death out of barbarous lands, or that the lightning, when it smote Dathi at the foot of the mountain, had smitten him also, or that his grave had been dug by the green-haired and green-toothed merrows deep at the roots of the deep sea.'" | 3/15/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 272: The Dark And What It Said | by Rick Kennett This story was originally printed in Andromeda Spaceways In-Flight Magazine #28, 2007, and has since been reprinted in Year's Best Australian SF #38; Fantasy #4 (MirrorDanse Books, 2008); The Writing Show "Ghast Fest", October 2008, Australian Dark Fantasy #38; Horror #3 (Brimstone Press, 2009) and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine Best Of Horror Volume 2, 2010 (whew!). won the 2008 Ditmar Award for Best Short Story. Rick, whose website can be reached by the link under his name, lives in Melbourne, Australia, where he works in the transport industry. His stories have appeared in Aurealis, Weird Tales, Dunesteef Audio Magazine and several anthologies. Read for us by our own Graeme Dunlop! "The light touched on a bulky, indefinite shape, hard by a tree, obscured by a low branch across the top of it. 'Whatrsquo;s that?rsquo; whispered Andrew. 'That old car body I told you about,' Rudy whispered back. He moved the light along, then swept it all around to catch whatever might be creeping up from behind. Nothing was creeping up from behind. 'Maybe it was a night bird like you said before,' said Andrew, not at all sounding like he believed it. 'Irsquo;ve sometimes heard a bird call that sounds like lsquo;Whatcha reading.rsquo; Maybe therersquo;s something out here that hoots lsquo;Hey you therersquo; at night.'" | 3/8/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 271: Flash On The Borderlands X - Demonica | Three flash fictions about those darker spirits we know so well... DOG By Stephen Hodgkinson. Stephen lives #38; works in Manchester, United Kingdom. He is working on a collection of short stories that he hopes to publish by Summer 2012. Read by Eve Upton, who previously starred as the mushroom in "Tippler's Bane". "The girl stared out of her bedroom window. Her neighbour, the little boy was playing alone in his garden. She hated him, she hated his constant happiness, and she hated the confident way he dealt with his own company. She hated him and she was very lonely. ldquo;You could kill himrdquo; said a tiny voice lurking somewhere in the room." ANNOTATIONS by Brady Golden. Brady lives in Oakland, California with his wife and daughter. Click the link under his name to visit his website and find him on Twitter at @bradiation. Text read by David Michel. Numbers read by Melissa Bugaj. Click her name to hear her host original children's stories at the Night Light Stories podcast. "There are any number of books containing illustrations of the runes to be inscribed at the ritual's onset. Some exist only in the private collections of reclusive eccentrics, while others are as close as your local library, misfiled at the ends of dimly lit aisles that smell like public toilets." "Annotations" uses this chime sound from Freesound. "crystal_glass" by reinsamba THE DROWNER By Peadar O Guillin Click his name to sample some FROZEN STORIES. Random House published his first novel, THE INFERIOR, in 2007 (2008 in North America). The translation rights have since been sold to ten different markets. A sequel called THE DESERTER will be appearing in the U.S. and Canada in March 2012. He is also the author of numerous short stories, the most recent of which is "Heartless" over at BENEATH CEASELESS SKIES (December 2011), "Fairy Gold", due out in LORE in March 2012 or "The Dowry" in the next issue (#16) of BLACK GATE. Read by Cian MacMahon. Click the link under his name to visit his blog. "As they sank together, Sean continued to stare into the strange white face of the Drowner. It hadn't decayed too badly. The hair must have kept growing after he'd been lost. Bits of twig lay tangled there and tiny fry swam in and out of it as the walls of the island's roots kept rising away from them. The eyes were whole too and Sean fancied he saw a flicker of recognition in them as well as a slight, shy smile on the rotted lips." "The Drowner" uses these water and seascape sounds from Freesound. "bajo_agua_LOOP" by plagasul "Water1" by pushtobreak "Water2" by pushtobreak "Water4" by pushtobreak "Water" by Halion "ELEMENTS_WATER_01_Underwater" by suonho "Water" by Batuhan "Herring #38; Great Black backed Gulls 2 edited" by genghis attenborough "bubblesrealslow (2)" by Rhedcerulean "SplashEdit" by duckboy80 "Lapping Waves and Sea Gulls 2" by digifishmusic "Scuba 1" by digifishmusic "Underwater (small river)" by melarancida "Pirate Ship at Bay" by CGEffex "01650 underwater bubbles" by Robinhood76 "Credo" by cormi "03_Lanes_Island_Water_2_LowBoat_48_24" by tomtenney | 3/1/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 270: A Revelation of Cormorants | by Mark Valentine Mark Valentine has written a biography of the Welsh author and mystic Arthur Machen (Seren, 1990) and TIME, A FALCONER (Tartarus Press, 2011), a study of the diplomat and fantasist lsquo;Sarbanrsquo;. His stories of an aesthetical occult detective were recently brought together in THE COLLECTED CONNOISSEUR (Tartarus Press, 2010). He edits Wormwood, a journal of the literature of the fantastic, supernatural and decadent. Mark's latest project is a book of short stories, SECRET EUROPE (Ex Occidente Press), due in early 2012, jointly with fellow author John Howard. Read for us by the unflappable Ian Stuart! "lsquo;Cormorant, from the Latin for ldquo;sea-ravenrdquo;. The Tudors saw the bird as a symbol for gluttony: Shakespeare refers to hungry Time as a cormorant. It may have gained this reputation because of its proficiency at catching fish. Milton, however, invested the bird with a dark glamour: he likened Lucifer sitting in the Tree of Life to a cormorant, no doubt because of the birdrsquo;s habit of standing with its black wings spread out to dry. The satanic image stuck. The occultist and poet Ludovic Horne wrote of his ldquo;Cormorant days/dark and sleekrdquo;. The atheist essayist Llewellyn Powys refers to the birds as ldquo;satanic saintsrdquo; in Parian niches on the chalk cliffs of Dorset, but he celebrated them too as manifesting the ecstasy of the moment, as they plunge into the sea after the silver-scaled fish of their dreams. Conan Doyle alludes to an untold Sherlock Holmes case of ldquo;The Lighthouse Keeper and the Trained Cormorantrdquo;. Isherwood cites them in a nonsense poem. Folklore about them is much barer than the literary record." This podcast uses these wave and bird sounds from from Freesound and cormorant recordings lifted from Youtube. "Seaford1" by acclivity "UrbanHerringGulls" by acclivity "beach_waves" by 3bagbrew "GullsByTheSea" by acclivity "oceanwavescrushing" by Luftrum "Fiji Beach (Stereo)128kbps" by c97059890 "Seagulls close-up" by juskiddink "WavesOnBeach" by acclivity | 2/24/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 269: The Burning Servant | by Steven Saus Click his name to visit his website. This story was first published as a part of Mike Stackpole's Chain Story project in August 2010. Steven's work appears in print in the anthologies Mages #38; Magic, Timeshares and Hungry For Your Love, and in several magazines both online and off, including On Spec, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, SFWA Bulletin, and On Spec. He has a story in the anthology Westward Weird due out from DAW Books in Spring 2012, and the third book of The Crimson Pact is due out at the end of March 2012. He also provides publishing services and publishes books as Alliteration Ink. The Drabblecast recently did an audio version of his story "Broken". Read by Stephanie Morris. Click the link to get infected with SCRIBBLEOMANIA! "'Mrs. Freeman,' Dr. Montegro said, 'I believe there was a tale in the offering. While your observations of old age are ... fascinating... they are not the coin of the realm. So to speak.' The doctor looked down through his glasses at her. 'We trade stories here, madam, and your grandson was going to tell one.' The smile creased her face even further. 'Why, yes, yes, he was.' Jonathan tried to guide his grandmother to an armchair, but she waved him off, settling onto a barstool. 'You fine educated men know of General Sherman, don't you? The Union commander who burned his way from Atlanta to Savannah?' Several men nodded; a few, who had betrayed Southern accents earlier in the evening, frowned. Montegro's hand touched the silver chestpiece of his stethoscope. Sarah looked up at the paneled ceiling for a moment, then back at the listening men. 'What you don't know is that Sherman didn't do it all himself.'" | 2/16/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 268: Let There Be Darkness | by Mike Allen Click his name to visit his website, DESCENT INTO LIGHT. Mike is also editor of the critically acclaimed CLOCKWORK PHOENIX anthology series and the long-running poetry journal MYTHIC DELERIUM. This story first appeared in Penny Dreadful, and was reprinted in the anthology THE BIBLE OF HELL and Mike's poetry collection STRANGE WISDOMS OF THE DEAD. He is planning a collection of his horror stories, including this tale and previous Pseudopod submissions "The Button Bin" and "The Blessed Days" to be published by Apex Books. Read by Christiana Ellis, who recently read "Plus Or Minus" for ESCAPE POD. "A day will come when the sunrsquo;s pale yellow stare starts to fill with the taint of blood. Among the confused and tremulous hordes of mankind, amidst the endless processions of grand towers forged from metal stolen from the moon, I will walk. One knowing face, one unique being traversing the rivers of humanity that flood this world." | 2/9/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 267: Mentor | by Sean Eads Sean has two novels coming out in 2012 - THE SURVIVORS is coming this fall from Lethe Press, and a suspense novel, TRIGGER POINT, coming in March from a new publisher called Musa Publishing. He also has a story upcoming in Bruce Bethke's STUPEFYING STORIES from Rampant Loon Press Read by Mark E. Phair, who last read "The Line" for Pseudopod. "I recovered myself with difficulty. I was in my mentorrsquo;s house. I stood here uninvited but nevertheless I stood here. Understanding the opportunity, my attention burst outward in glances both rapid and greedy. I took in everything, finding the details of corners, seeking every scrap of intimate but banal information about the man. People might think this insanemdash;I had after all worked closely with my mentor for a decade and a half, giving him my poems for his unsparing critiques, listening and agreeing to his thoughts on literature, attending his seminars and readings, making his friends my friends. I still was not good enough. I had never published anything but I kept at it. I was poor and I wrote about poverty. ldquo;You are poor,rdquo; my mentor would say, ldquo;but you have not suffered.rdquo; I was lonely and I wrote about loneliness. ldquo;Yes, you are lonely,rdquo; my mentor confirmed, ldquo;but loneliness is not suffering.rdquo; Gradually this became the sum of his critique. At the bottom of each returned poem he scribbled: ldquo;You still have not suffered.rdquo; I felt I would never understand. I looked about this room now as if it would tell me how to feel the anguish that clearly my mentor felt, the despair that made him so superior a poet. How could his kitchen tell me more about him than his verse, which was so confessional, so full of agony and torment, like a man imprisoned in his own flesh? What was knowledge of his plates and silverware in comparison? What could his dirty dishes tell me about his soul?" | 2/2/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 266: This Is Now | by Michael Marshall Smith Click his name for his home page. The story can be read here at the BBCi Cult website. It originally appeared in THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST NEW HORROR 16 (2005), BY BLOOD WE LIVE (2009) and the author's collection THIS IS NOW (2007). Read by Steve Anderson. "'If you were seeing the fence for the first time, you'd likely wonder at the straightness of it, the way in which the concrete posts had been planted at ten yard intervals deep into the rock. You might ask yourself if national forests normally went to these lengths, and you'd soon remember they didn't, that for the most part a cheerful little wooden sign by the side of the road was all that was judged to be required. If you kept on walking deeper, intrigued, sooner or later you'd see a notice attached to one of the posts. The notices are small, designed to convey authority rather than draw attention. NO TRESPASSING, they say. MILITARY LAND. That could strike you as a little strange, perhaps, because you might have believed that most of the marked-off areas were down over in the moonscapes of Nevada, rather than up here at the quiet Northeast corner of Washington State. But who knows what the military's up to, right? Apart from protecting us from foreign aggressors, of course, and The Terrorist Threat, and if that means they need a few acres to themselves then that's actually kind of comforting. The army moves in mysterious ways, our freedoms to defend. Good for them, you'd think, and you'd likely turn and head back for town, having had enough of tramping through snow for the day. In the evening you'd come into Ruby's and eat hearty, some of my wings or a burger or the brisket - which, though I say so myself, isn't half bad. Next morning you'd drive back South. I remember when the fences went up. Thirty years ago. 1985. Our parents knew what they were for. Hell, we were only eight and we knew." This podcast uses these wind and pool sounds from from Freesound. "Wind" by Batuhan "Wind2" by Sagetyrtle "Pool shot" by Cameronmusic "Ae.Billiard Ball Rolling" by Bunyi "Pool balls" by Bsumusictech "Pool Break" by AaHanson | 1/26/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 265: Biba Jibun | by Eugie Foster Click her name for her home page, or visit her blog on the same site. This story originally appeared in issue #23 of Apex Magazine. Eugie's newest story collection, RETURNING MY SISTER'S FACE AND OTHER FAR EASTERN TALES OF WHIMSY AND MALICE is published by Norilana Books and is available for Kindle, Nook and ePpub, iPad, PDF, Palm (PDB) and Sony (LRF). Read by Kara Grace, who also read "Braiding The Ghosts" for PODCASTLE. "'When the train arrived, it was jammed with commuters: students, salarymen, and office ladies. I squeezed into the last car, and more bodies pushed in behind me. My stomach churned, assaulted by cloying perfume, stale cigarette smoke, and sour sweat. I was so intent upon not being sick that at first I didn't notice that somewhere between Shibuya and Harajuko stations, a man's hand had settled on my leg. Surrounded by blank-faced commuters, wedged so tightly I couldn't move, I had no idea who it belonged to. As the train jostled along, the hand slipped higher, burning a sweat-slick trail from knee to thigh. At the next juddering stop, my agitated insides heaved, and I shoved free from the car. I fled into the closest ladies? toilet to throw up. Stomach as empty and deflated as my spirits, I splashed water on my face, trying not to cry. The door opened, and a girl in a school uniform identical to mine stepped to the sink beside me. She pulled a glittering gold bag embossed with distinctive Louis Vuitton monograms out of her schoolbag. After dumping an array of makeup on the counter, she proceeded to sketch in her eyebrows with a dark pencil. 'I saw what happened, you know." Her voice was low and rich. "You're supposed to yell 'chikan' when they grope you. Everyone says train perverts make them want to puke, but you're the first I've seen who really has. You must be new to Tokyo.'rdquo; | 1/19/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 264: A Study In Flesh And Mind | by Liz Argall This story originally appeared at DAILY SCIENCE FICTION on Friday, May 20th, 2011. Liz's work can be found in a range of publications, including, Strange Horizons, Meanjin and will be in Machine of Death 2. Related to this story, she supported the Parisian Life Models Strike of 2008, details on which can be seen here and here. Read by Philippa Ballantine who appeared here last in "In Memoriam". Her website is currently sporting the covers of her new books, at the link under her name. "'Try to observe closely,' says the Great Teacher, not really looking at her fresh pose, tapping the baton in his palm and smirking at the short-skirted student. 'It's like this.' The model observes his new stance, the way his right hand grasps his hip, the left held in the air. She mimics his pose exactly, although she keeps her face carefully blank and does not include his sneering expression. The Great Teacher snorts in disgust, shakes his head and rolls his eyes. She swiftly finds a new pose, a mangled combination of the previous three, fighting down anger and a hint of panic. She has no idea what he wants and she will not survive at this school without his recommendation.rdquo; | 1/12/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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20 |
ExplicitPseudopod 263: The Republic of the Southern Cross | by Valery Bryusov. This story was written in 1905 and published in Zemnaya Os (The Axis of the Earth) in 1907. The text is available online at the Gaslight website. A more modern translation can be found in THE DEDALUS BOOK OF RUSSIAN DECADENCE: PERVERSITY, DESPAIR #38; COLLAPSE (2007). As for the real world - check this out. Read by Eric Luke of the Extruding America podcast. "A detachment of well-armed men passed into the town, bearing food and medical first-aid, entering by the north-western gates. They, however, could not penetrate further than the first blocks of buildings, because of the dreadful atmosphere. They had to do their work step by step, clearing the bodies from the streets, disinfecting the air as they went. The only people whom they met were completely irresponsible. They resembled wild animals in their ferocity and had to be captured and held by force.rdquo; | 1/9/12 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 262: Black Hill | By Orrin Grey. Click his name to find out who killed him... This story is available to read here. Orrin's first collection is due out from Evileye Books sometime early next year. It'll be called Never Bet the Devil #38; Other Warnings and will feature ten of his stories, including the out of print, 22,000 word novella "The Mysterious Flame." Also, Orrin is currently editing an anthology of horror stories that involve fungus. Get sporing... Read by Rich Girardi. "There was a sound come up from the hole, like a gasp. The men figured we'd hit a pocket of gas and everyone backed off in case it was like to burn. Then the derrick shook all the way up and the ground seemed to slide a little under our feet. There come a noise from the hole like I ain't never heard the ground make in all my years. When I was a boy, my pa'd known a man who worked a whaling ship and he said that whales sang to one another. He'd put his hands together over his mouth and blown a call that he said was as close as he could do to what they sounded like. This sounded like that call. All the men went back another pace, not knowing if maybe we'd hit a sinkhole, or God knows what. There was another groan, then an old cave stink, and then the black stuff started coming up around the pipe like a tide. I'd seen gushers in my day, the pressurized wells that blew the tops off the derricks, but this weren't the same. This weren't no geyser; this were a flood, the oil pouring up from under the ground like a barrel that's been overturned. Everybody was silent for another minute and then the men gathered 'round all cheered, 'cause they knowed we'd finally hit whatever it was we'd been aiming at." | 12/29/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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Explicitbonus Christmas flash - Coming Home | By Maria Alexander The text of this story is available at Gothic.net. You can also seek out her poetry collection, AT LOUCHE ENDS: Poetry for the Decadent, the Damned #38; the Abinsthe-Minded published by Burning Effigy Press in Toronto and her anthology of stories by award-winning authors: LEFT HANGING: 9 Tales of Suspense and Thrills. Get it on Kindle and Nook today! "My mouth is sour with whiskey and the loaded shotgun lays heavily across my lap in my sofa chair. This is my Christmas Eve ritual." AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.... | 12/22/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 261: Widdershins | By Robert Mammone. You can get the Kindle version of his new short story, "Shivers", in the collection The Big Book of New Short Horror from Pill Hill Press. And check out his earlier Pseudopod story, The Copse. Read by Frank Key. Click his name to visit The Hooting Yard! Also, check out his previous reading for ESCAPE POD, Hesperia and Glory! "His dreams were disturbed. He saw the moon emerge from behind a bank of racing clouds, the surface yellowed and cracked like old bone. He stood in a clearing, surrounded by outcroppings of rock and trees whose branches were lashed by the breeze. He thought he heard indistinct muttering which, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make out. Gradually, though, the muttering grew clearer, until, with a jolt, he understood. 'Widdershins start my hair, widdershins start my hair.' There was a sudden blurring and the clearing vanished replaced for a brief moment with an image of Hendricks, face rigid with intent, looming over him, a wad of stinking cotton clutched in one hand. Powerless, he felt the material pressed over his mouth and nose, the fumes filling his nostrils and then he was falling..." | 12/22/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 260: Saint Nicholas’ Helper | By D.K. Thompson. I believe he has something to do with Podcastle, I think... You can listen to his previous Pseudopod story Last Respects at the link. Read by Marie Brennan. Click her name to visit The Swan Tower! Also, check out her new book on Amazon, With Fate Conspire, the fourth volume in the Onyx Court series! "Saint Nicholas looked just like he did in the picture stories: tall and thin, with a grand white beard that flowed to his waist. He wore a red-fur trimmed coat, a tall bishoprsquo;s hat, and clutched a gold staff. He smiled and said something, but Greta wasnrsquo;t listening. She hid behind her elder sister Heike and stared at the saintrsquo;s demonic assistant, Krampus. A wooden mask covered the demonrsquo;s face, a wicked smile carved into it that did not shift. Krampus tilted his horned head, his black pupils focused on Greta through the eye slits. His dark coat of damp furs smelled of decay, and he was wrapped in chains that he shook at the children. Theyrsquo;d come every year to her house, the saint and his assistant, but back then Gretarsquo;s father had been there to protect her. Krampus brandished a long, thin switch and hissed. Heike put a hand on Gretarsquo;s shoulder and whispered, ldquo;Donrsquo;t be scared. Yoursquo;ve been good, right?rdquo;" | 12/15/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitMetacast - TRIO OF TERROR! promo | Now available to all subscribers - check your email boxes for an early Christmas gift from Pseudopod - links to three new stories in our ongoing series. It's the TRIO OF TERROR and it is yours if you're a subscriber to any Escape Artists podcast OR have made a one-time donation of $50 dollars or more since January 1, 2011 (or if you choose to do so in the immediate future - hint, hint....) Offer WILL expire at a future date, just like all of us... or some of us... What are you getting for your hard-earned dollars, you ask? I'm glad you did! How about... *** "The Yellow Curse" by Grady Hendrix, in which our (self) esteemed and elitist occult investigating Gentleman's club, The White Street Society (only pedigrees need apply) delve into the heathen underbelly of Chinatown and uproot madness. Horrific comedy satire with a serrated edge! Click his name to visit his website and check out Amazon and other digital book spots for his ebook SATAN LOVES YOU. "''Chinatown suffers,' he declared. 'Rumors of war. A mysterious artifact. Something stolen in the night. Adventure calls. And I answer with a merry cry on my lips and my cane in my hand. Come, William! Prepare yourself for sights beyond the ken of mortal man! For we go now to solve.... THE YELLOW CURSE!'" Read by our own Alasdair Stuart *** "The Shooting Way" by Jim Bihyeh, featuring a further exploration into the horrors of Native American mythology and the schemes of the legendary trickster god, Coyote. His memoir,nbsp;NAVAJOS WEAR NIKES, about life on the Navajo Reservation, was released in spring 2011 and was praised for its ldquo;wit and keen observationrdquo; by the Arizona Daily Sun and for its ldquo;consummate storytellingrdquo; by New Mexico Magazine. It was recently released in paperback and is a New Mexico Book Award finalist this year. Look for it at Amazon.com, Alibris.com and check out thenbsp;Facebook page for the book and thenbsp;NAVAJOS WEAR NIKES group . "The green eyes had belonged to an owl. Skinwalkers ndash; yee naaldloshiacute;iacute; ndash; were shape-shifters, and traveled as night animals to keep their business secret. And it had been bad business for auntie Bonita since August. Four cows had died in the last two weeks, bucking and groaning while they foamed at the mouth, as though theyrsquo;d eaten the purple-flowering locoweed that grew in the flat stretches of desert. But Bonita swore theyrsquo;d never grazed over it. Something must have fed it to them." Read by Cayenne Chris Conroy! *** "Nourished By Chaff, We Believe The Glamor" by Tim W. Burke, wherein an associate of the eternally ambitious Guru Keresh must deal with an old plaything and an even older playmate! Click his name to check out Tim's blog. His novel THE MAD EARL'S HOMECOMING is available on Amazon, as is my short story collection PENSIVE CREATURES. "Then I remembered something I had told the ladies: good spirits want to nurture love for all; selfish ones want to divide us all. Show-Showrsquo;s eyes had a dark gleam I hadnrsquo;t remembered before. Grasping at Alecsandrirsquo;s questions, I asked, 'Those boyshellip;in Mobilehellip;at the warehouse. What did you do with them?' 'They didnrsquo;t want to go away to the military academy. They wanted to be pirates. So I took them to their pirate ship.' 'Show-Show, what have you become?'" Read by Veronica Giguere *** If you're new to Pseudopod, or have missed any of the previous stories in these series, rest assured each of these tales is free-standing... and if they pique your interest, please check out these download links to the previous installments! THE COYOTE TALES by Jim Bihyeh Pseudopod 159: Reservation Monsters Pseudopod 167: Love Like Thunder Pseudopod 182: The Dreaming Way THE WHITE STREET SOCIETY by Grady Hendrix Pseudopod 76: Tales of the White Street Society Pseudopod 131: Tales of the White Street Society - The Corpse Army of Khartoum THE SAGA OF GURU KERESH by .. | 12/9/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 259: To My Wondering Eyes Did Appear | By Larry C. Kay. His blog, Scribbleninja, is you know where. Also, check out STEAMPUNK TALES for more of his work. Read by Stephanie Morris. Click her name to hear more from her at the Scribbleomania blog! "A figure obscured the flames of the fireplace: a man. Bettia sat up quickly, blinking away sleep, thinking it was her father. But this man was shorter, rounder, and part of her groggy mind considered Santa Claus, and that she must have slept for days. Her eyes adjusted and she could see that the man indeed wore a red shirt. Not like a dumb mall Santa, but a working manrsquo;s shirt: rough and stained darker red on top of the red. And not any fire engine red, but crimson; just like his Converse All-Stars. His jeans were black or maybe just covered in soot. His face was dirty like a coal minerrsquo;s, but Bettia thought he was a white man. He carried a black bag slung over one shoulder, an empty bag, but Bettia knew this man was no burglar. This shaggy buffalo of a man smiled when he noticed Bettia, and showed his sharp fighting-dog teeth. Bettia heard a whimper, and shame crinkled her face as she realized it was she that sounded like a whipped mutt." | 12/8/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 258: The Stink of Animosity | By Rob E. Boley. Rob would like you to visit Mission: Wolf and learn about wolf conservation. Read by Rish Outfield, say it with me...Dunesteef! "'ldquo;So, what did she do?rdquo; These are the first words the stranger says to you as he takes the bar stool on your right. The hotel lounge has at least two-dozen seats scattered between the bar and four tables, and only half of those seats are filled. Yet he sits next to you. His voice is almost a growl ndash; all gravel and broken glass ndash; too ragged for someone his age. Judging from his unblemished skin, you guess the stranger is no more than nineteen or twenty. You search your memories, wondering if hersquo;s one of your students at the college. But no, you would remember him. Hersquo;s got an unkempt, patchy beard and dirty, long hair. Everything about him says wannabe hippie or beatnik: his worn boots, his thrift store brown leather jacket, and his dirty grey t-shirt. His eyes are wild, like hersquo;s been chewing on a handful of random pills. ldquo;Who? What are you talking about?rdquo; you ask, trying to sound abrupt but not aggressive. Yoursquo;re not looking for a fight. At least, not with him. ldquo;You got the stink of animosity on you, is all. I can smell it; itrsquo;s so strong. Itrsquo;s not hard to see that yoursquo;re p****d at someone.rdquo;" | 11/30/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 255: Flash on The Borderlands IX - It’s War! | Three VETERAN'S DAY flash fictions about war - ancient, recent and omnipresent KING By C. Deskin Rink. Mr. Rink has previously appeared on Pseudopod with episode #186 - "Ankor Sabat". A sequel to it, "The High Priest", appeared as episode #35 of the (Cast Macabre podcast). He has an upcoming story, "Kingdom of Sorrow," in the Dark Tales of Lost Civilizations anthology. Read by V.O. Bloodfrost, who previously read the Podcastle Miniature #65 "Blood Willows". He can be contacted at his Twitter @VBloodfrost. "The first time I beheld my King was amidst the arcades and columns of Babylon beneath an aching, cerulean firmament. From the uppermost heights of the hanging gardens he descended, taking each megalithic tier in a single stride until his final step cracked wide the world itself. His bloodshot eyes stared out at me from beneath his golden crown: wide and perfectly round ndash; bereft of lids, lashes or flesh. "Hail!" I cried out, "Hail! Our King is descended from on high to rule the Earth!"" NUMBER 21 RUE LE SUEUR By Edward McDermott While the story is fiction, the events it describes are all real: Dresden, 84 avenue foch, 93 Rue Lauriston, and Number 21 Rue le Sueur . Read by Ben Phillips. ""We had received several reports about a doctor in Paris who was part of the resistance. Dr. Eugene of the resistance cell code named Fly-Tox. He was one of many, and we were told to concentrate on the Red Orchestra, that was the Communist spy system and resistance system in France. Your British and American agents were simply not that important. "However, Robert Jodkum of IV-B4, the Jewish Affairs Department of the Gestapo, learned from an informer that a "Dr. Eugegrave;ne" was helping Jews get out of France and flee to Argentina. Jodkum was a bit of martinet, and the thought of anyone escaping drove him into a rage. The informer led him to the barbershop of a lowlife called Raoul Fourrier, who was directing people to the lsquo;escape routersquo;. Jodkum arrested Doctor Marcel Andreacute; Henri Feacute;lix Petiot. We held him in Fresnes prison south of Paris for several months." Johnson looked bored. "The problem was that Fourrier knew nothing, and Petiot wouldnrsquo;t talk. There was no proof of any escape line. We tracked several people who supposedly used this line to disappear, and disappear they did, but they never turned up anywhere else." WAR By Aaron Ashley Garrison Click his name for his website. Aaron also blogs at Synchroshock. Read by Dominic Rabrun. Click the link under his name to visit his blog, Sketch Banquet. "'These little rabbit's feet, on my neck? They mean I've killed a man. Men. And I don't regret nothin. It was war." | 11/10/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 235: Flash On The Borderlands VIII - Warped Love | Three flash fictions about the strange shapes love can bend us into (sorry, Valentine's Day has already passed!) IN MEMORIAM By Matthew Chrulew Click his name for some "Negentropy". This story was originally published in Shadowed Realms 8 in 2005, and is available to read at the link, and the podcast of another story can be found at Terra Incognita Speculative Fiction 16 from 2010. His novella from Twelfth Planet Press, ldquo;The Angaelig;lien Apocalypserdquo; is a finalist in the Aurealis Awards' science fiction short story category. Click the title to purchase a copy. Narrated by Philippa Ballantine. "She approaches the spot and pulls into the gravelly emergency lane. It is still there, like always, in the traditional place to the side of the road - her husbandrsquo;s memorial cross, attesting his memory in some little way to the passing drivers. Still bearing the wreath of carnations she left last week. She visits at that interval. She remembers his life, his weekend surprises, and his stupid jokes. And she remembers his death, as it must have happened - that shrieking scratch of metal, that infinite slide, that smash into the tree." PIECES By M.C. Funk Under his name came be found what he's responsible for... Narrated by Donna Lynch. "I knew your demon would be hungry the moment I found it. How it crouched toad-like behind the cleaning products under our sink. From its eight-ball eyes to the mouth that spread atop its stomach, your demon's shape was fat with appetite. I came to you terrified and smelling of bleach. "Oh yeah." You had sad-dog eyes. "I was meaning to tell you about that."" HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS By Bint Arab Click his name and satisfy your "Bibliophilia". Narrated by our forum's own Marshal Latham! "'"I made you young, Mother, so you wonrsquo;t have to worry about your heart problems any more." He swiped some of the dirt off her face and wrapped her in the towel so he wouldn't have to touch her as he guided her to the house." | 6/23/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 228: Flash On The Borderlands VII - Tableaux & Displays | Three Flash Fictions of Still-Lives, Voyeurism and Exhibitions (a regular "Night Gallery", if you will...) HUNTING By Kirsty Logan who is also co-editor of Fractured West. Narrated by Rick Stringer of VARIANT FREQUENCIES. "There was only one inner door, so the hunter opened it. He held his candle at arm's length, but still could see nothing more than the foot of an ocean-sized bed. The hunter crawled across its length, disregarding the brief waft of mold from the blankets. He placed the candlestick on the squat table beside the bed and pulled the covers up over his body." WHAT MAKES YOU TICK? By David Steffen who founded and co-edits DIABOLICAL PLOTS. The text version of this story can be found at Brain Harvest. Narrated by W. Ralph Walters of FREQUENCY OF FEAR. "...they bring their straps and their knives and explore the frontiers of my body. They will find nothing." PAGEANT GIRLS By Caroline Yoachim This story appeared originally in Issue #42 of Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. Narrated by Mur Lafferty who can also be found at The Murverse. "'Didnrsquo;t take long to find where it was coming from, and it was a bad thing. I wasnrsquo;t the only dead girl in the pageant. The new girl, the new dead girl, she was competition." | 5/5/11 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 198: The Mother and the Worm | By Tim W. Burke Read by Paul S. Jenkins, author of The Plitone Revisionist We were in our places, Olivia at the door and I in the wicker basket. The windows were concealed with heavy curtains to keep out the afternoon sun, but oil lamps pushed back the gloom. The lady who entered our study first was the old friend of Oliviarsquo;s family, who embraced Olivia, then introduced her guests. The other matron wore black; she was the hopeful patron. The men were both young, one balding and mustached and the other dark and intense. They were surprised by her frank smile, by her firm handclasp, and they smirked. The basket that hid me was a cubit square. Within it, I sat naked on a thin cotton mat, waiting for my cue. For the preceding installment in this story, please check out "The Garden And The Mirror" For the next installment, proceed to "Nourished By Chaff, We Believe The Glamor", part of the Trio of Terror. | 6/10/10 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 186: Ankor Sabat | By C. Deskin Rink This story now appears in the collection TORN REALITIES, available from Amazon.com. Read by Ben Phillips But less than a year later, when Lord Galen returned home from a hunting trip, he discovered four of his guards torn limb-from-limb, his bedroom window broken in from the outside, monstrous claw marks on the second floor balcony and, of his beloved, no trace. Most disturbing of all was what he beheld graven into the wall above her bed: a monstrous blue sigil in the form of a six-lobed eye. No earthly implement could have rendered the perfectly aligned delineations of that unmentionable shape; nor could any earthly ink have provided its hateful color which glimmered balefully even in total darkness. Terrible was Lord Galenrsquo;s grief, but even more terrible was the thing which grew by degrees within him: his wrath. | 3/18/10 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 182: The Dreaming Way | By Jim Bihyeh Read by Cayenne Chris Conroy of the Teknikal Diffikulties podcast Her teachers never asked her to remove the headphones. What was the point? The girl earned a 100% on every quiz and exam, and when they called on her, Lynnette spat the answer back like a rifle ejecting a shell. ldquo;The girl just has a way with tests,rdquo; her teachers repeated. ldquo;She knows how to prepare.rdquo; But Lynette caught a lot of s**t for her test grades. Part of the Navajo culture said that you werenrsquo;t supposed to stand out from the group. But Lynette already stood out. ldquo;Lynette, Lyn-Ette! Teacherrsquo;s Pet!rdquo; went the usual recess refrain. ldquo;Lynette, Lyn-Ette! Teacherrsquo;s Pet! About as tall as a jumbo jet!rdquo; And Lynette was tall. She towered past six feet by the time she reached eighth grade. And her long black hair that she rarely brushed only made her seem taller when it fell down over her wide shoulders; she was heavy-set, truly big-boned, more muscle than fat. And she put that muscle to use during the ldquo;Lynette Incidents,rdquo; as they came to be called. For further Coyote Tales, please check out: Reservation Monsters "Love Like Thunder" and "The Shooting Way" in "The Trio Of Terror" | 2/18/10 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 167: Love Like Thunder | By Jim Bihyeh Read by Cayenne Chris Conroy of Teknikal Diffikulties After he pitched his nylon tent in a nearby juniper grove at the base of the hill, he slept until moonrise. Then, under the pale light, he unfolded his steel trench-shovel and walked uphill toward the cemetery, looking for love. Three fresh granite tombstones glinted with new sand mounded before them; the last resting place for three of the Ganado students killed that week. Dondo noted them as he searched for older love. Deeper love. He found it at a medium-sized granite tombstone next to a clump of rabbit brush. The name read: ldquo;Elinore Tsosie,rdquo; born April 19 1933, died November 18, 2004. 71 years old. Perfect. Dondo squatted over his haunches beside the grave, holding his hands over the sandy earth like he was warming himself beside a campfire. He pinched sand from the base of the tombstone, tasted it, then spat to the north. Here was love. He dug. For further Coyote Tales, please check out: Reservation Monsters "The Dreaming Way" and "The Shooting Way" in "The Trio Of Terror" | 11/5/09 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 159: Reservation Monsters | By Jim Bihyeh Read by Ben Phillips "When I was your age, I ran away from school all the time. The tribal police would gather all us kids up from the hogans and the cabins, haul us to the boarding schools, cut our hair, tell us not to talk Navajo, feed us flour with bugs in it. All that crap you hear about now in documentaries. I ran away to my auntie's house near Canyon de Chelly. She was a seer and a hand trembler. The Navajos around there, if they couldn't sleep or they were sick, they sent a runner to my auntie and she came with her rock crystal and her corn pollen and went over their home until her hand trembled like she was holding on to an electric fence. And she saw things. Visions no one else could see. The sort of visions you're seeing now. The things that cause sickness. Death. Things that have to be dealt with. Things that have to be sung and prayed over, so the person can be healthy again." For further Coyote Tales, please check out: "Love Like Thunder" "The Dreaming Way" and "The Shooting Way" in "The Trio Of Terror" | 9/10/09 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 131: Tales of the White Street Society - The Corpse Army of Khartoum | By Grady Hendrix Read by Alasdair Stuart It had been some time since we had last been called to a meeting of the White Street Society and all of us yearned to quench the thirst for the strange that these meetings had fostered in our souls, which is why the three of us ndash; Drake, Lewis and myself ndash; finally abandoned formality and stopped by the clubhouse uninvited, fully expecting Augustus to be absent, overseas perhaps, investigating some mysterious mystery. Instead, we stood frozen in surprise and dripping with February rain in the doorway of the clubroom, watching our old friend sitting by the fire and reading the papers, as cool as an oyster. "Augustus," cried Drake. "What are you doing here?" "And where's Charles?," said Lewis, as an unfamiliar manservant helped him off with his overcoat. For further adventures of THE WHITE STREET SOCIETY, please check out: "Tales Of The White Street Society". and "The Yellow Curse" in THE TRIO OF TERROR. This week's episode sponsored by Audible.com, who offers you a free audiobook download of your choice from their selection of over 40,000 titles. | 2/27/09 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 127: The Garden and the Mirror | By Tim W. Burke Read by Alasdair Stuart She asked me, "Will you teach the secrets of the soul and flesh?" Her eyes glowed like onyx in the gaslight. Her skin seemed translucent, but the young man fidgeting beside her on my drawing room sofa was paler still. His fine suit and shirt sagged on him; the cadaver in him emerging. The young man blanched at her boldness, "My wife has always been an enthusiast for mysticism. Back home in Atlanta, we tried homeopathy, faith healing, and God knows how many quacks. But the tumor grows. My fevers are getting worse. I canrsquo;t even travel home because my head aches --" "Mr. Alecsandri," the young woman, Olivia Spalding, leaned to me, "Our friends here told us that you cured their little boy of consumption." "I remember the case. I taught the boy to banish it." For the follow-up to this story, please check out "The Mother And The Worm" and then proceed to "Nourished By Chaff, We Believe The Glamor", part of the Trio of Terror. | 1/29/09 | Free | View In iTunes |
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ExplicitPseudopod 76: Tales of the White Street Society | By Grady Hendrix Read by Alasdair Stuart A creak of the flooring caught my attention and I turned sharply, expecting to find my guide creeping up behind me with a jackblack in her hand and murder in her Irish eyes. Instead, I beheld a waif with a waxen pallor, protruding bones and papery skin, crouching just inside the doorway. Her furtive creeping was arrested when she saw me. Rising up to her full height she fixed her watery eyes on me and said: "Harry don't like you." Just as I was about to strike her for her insolence, her face slackened and she swooned. I stepped forward to catch her, then noticed spittle running from her mouth, and stepped back so as to avoid soiling my clothes. For further adventures of THE WHITE STREET SOCIETY, please check out: "The Corpse Army of Khartoum" and "The Yellow Curse" in THE TRIO OF TERROR. | 2/7/08 | Free | View In iTunes |
| Total: 38 Episodes |
Customer Reviews
Pretty darn good
I'm not really into horror normally but something made me download this yesterday. I listened to The Bagman on my drive home and thought it was great. I wouldn't really call it HORROR because I didn't have to turn it off at any point ;) but it was still a very good story with great narration. Maybe more of a thriller than a horror, but still very good. Keep them coming!
Consistently terrific quality!
From content to presentation, everything about this podcast is absolutely top-notch. The stories range all the way from quirky dark fantasy to gut-wrenching horror, but are all very well-written. The narrators are always in excellent voice, and the production values are some of the best I've heard in the podcast field. This is one of the best storytelling podcasts out there -- if you like horror, Pseudopod is one-stop shopping!
Love the Chtulhu nod!
This is a really good podcast. It's not so scary but the stories are good and really interesting. I listened to my first story yesterday, Brothers, and am hooked! Put some HP Lovecraft up! Love it, keep it going and thank you for putting up some quality literature for us to hear during work!
