Archive for August, 2007
Pseudopod 053: The Apple Tree Man

By Joel Arnold

Read by Ben Phillips

I hope my son doesn’t notice how fidgety I’ve become. I want him to live a normal life. I want him to grow up healthy. Isn’t that the hope of every father?

He takes a bite and I hear the squish of his teeth in the apple’s pulp. As the nausea builds in me, the world swivels on one big spindle, and I can’t help but turn to look.

His face is covered with blood.

He takes another bite and I feel the world falling out from under me.

More blood spurts from the apple, splattering his chin, his neck, drenching his yellow tee-shirt with it.

He looks up at me. Smiling. Chewing.

Flash: Brimstone Orange

By Livia Llewellyn

Read by Christiana Ellis

Midnight found her kneeling in grass, thick clumps of dirt all around. One by one she peeled and plucked segments of orange from its skin, then passed them between her legs. In the secret crevices of the tree, she gently tucked away the red-stained pulp. After, Cyan cradled the slender trunk, her fingers buried in its roots.

“Bear something for me,” she pleaded in her sleep. “Bear me.”

Pseudopod 052: That Old Black Magic

By John R. Platt

Read by George Hrab

Magic and I have never exactly been what you’d call the best of friends.

I’ve had plenty of opportunities over the years to try to make the relationship work. I joined a coven, did all the research, bought myself all of the accoutrements of the trade, even had business cards printed up.

But no matter how much knowledge I amassed, when it came to actually performing magic, I was a dud.

Pseudopod 051: Brothers

By J. C. Hay

Read by Richard Dansky

And now he was back again, wandering through what was left of the basement of the synagogue where he had huddled with his family and neighbors. Outside in the streets was a Germany gone mad, and this had been a safe place to hide. His father had announced that he knew how to protect them, if everyone stayed here. And he was right; if not for his actions, they would all have died that night, instead of just him. It was time, Jakob supposed, to settle the old ghosts haunting his memory.

He had been a boy of twelve at the time, but he would never forget. It was as indelible in his mind as the numbers tattooed on his forearm. Jakob pushed further into the dark and felt something crunch beneath his foot. The darkness gleefully filled the space in front of him as he pointed the beam of his flashlight down to find metal and broken glass reflecting back up at him whitely.

He picked the glasses up, holding them in the light for a moment. They were covered with dust, one lens cracked, the other fallen out completely. The gold wire holding the round glass in place had twisted and bent, long before his clumsy foot had found them. Jakob was surprised they had survived in the basement this long. He expected they would have been stolen by now. It had been fifty years after all.