By Joel Arnold
Read by Ben Phillips
Finally I looked at him. Bald, thin, muscular and his body covered with tattoos. I mean everywhere. On his face. His ears. All up and down the front of his back. He wore jeans and suspenders. No shirt. Just suspenders.
I caught myself staring at his teeth.
“Scrimshaw,” he said, widening his smile to expose more detail. “An art practiced for centuries by sailors.”
Each tooth was etched with a picture of a man hanging from a tree. The etchings disappeared into his throat.
By D. Richard Pearce
Read by KJ Johnson
With literally his last dollar, he bought a lottery ticket. That night, Beth called twice, but he ignored the phone. He curled up on the couch, gorged on chips, and watched as the lottery numbers dropped, in precise order, and matched his ticket.
With the weirdness of the last couple of weeks, winning the lottery didn’t surprise him at all. Not only that, he didn’t feel the least bit hopeful. He expected something to go wrong between now and the time he collected. Either the numbers were wrong, or he’d lose the ticket — something.
Nor was he disappointed. He did win, and Satan’s collectors allowed him to keep the decorative memento cheque, and not much else. He suspected a pattern was emerging.
By Richard A. Becker
Read by Cheyenne Wright
The really big cities had already been given the military treatment anyway, and that was mostly just plain stupid. Hallelujah, we used fuel-air explosives on the things! Nuked ’em! Genius! We destroyed ourselves to save ourselves, and if only they’d completely vaporized the targets it would’ve been fine. Well, apart from the fallout and the millions who died by friendly fire, that is.
You know, you really ought to make sure you move around a little bit more. It’s not our shift’s sleep time yet.
By Kevin Anderson
Read by Mur Lafferty
It had the characteristics of a spider but looked more like some underwater creature – a mutated octopus or alien squid. The arachnid’s legs were thick like tentacles, splayed out on a chalky porcelain table. Pools of blood spotted the off-white surface and a pair of forceps lay next to the spider, providing a sense of scale. The creature’s creamy white frame seemed about four inches in length. Its color reminded Caroline of the salamanders discovered in subterranean caves. Living their whole lives in darkness, the lizards looked pasty – sickly.
Leaning in, Wendy traced a finger along the picture’s caption. “It says, it didn’t have any eyes.”
“It doesn’t need them,” Caroline said, grinning. “It lives in darkness, just feeling its way around.” Just like the salamanders.
Wendy stood up. “This doesn’t prove anything, Caroline. You don’t have spiders living in your brain for god-sakes.”