Archive for November, 2015

Mayflower in Plymouth Harbor by William Halsall

PseudoPod 466: Bad Newes from New England

Show Notes

the story payment will be donated to RUNNING STRONG, a Native American charity.


Bad Newes from New England

by Moaner T. Lawrence


This act of goodwill stirred great cheer in the people of New Plimouth and, with freshly raised spirits, they bade the Wampanoag enter; opened home and hearth in the spirit of God, and offered to share their modest bounty; whereupon the Wampanoag made entrance, each savage family pairing off with one of our own. I, Chief Massasoit, the chief’s bodyguards, Hobomok, Captain Standish, and Pastor Brewster removed to Mr. Allteron’s house in front of the corn fields. Two of the chief’s children also joined us: His eldest son Wamsutta, a man of twenty years who was often short of patience, and suspicious of all Europeans, and his gentle daughter Amie, a girl of sixteen years who was ever amicable toward everyone. (Continue Reading…)

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PseudoPod 465: Saturday


Saturday

by Evan Dicken


The city slept, unmindful of the doom creeping toward it at 61.38 meters per year.

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PseudoPod 464: Fear

Show Notes

“Who we are as a child defines who we will become as an adult, and never so much so as when we are afraid.”


Fear

by Sandra M. Odell


“I hear something downstairs. Denny, you go down the basement and check the door. Make sure it’s locked tight.”

Dennell Baker clutched the doorframe beneath the latch until he could feel his pulse in his fingertips. “Sorry. What?”

The realtor in her sensible blue pantsuit and blued hair, what his mother used to call “old white lady church hair”, paused. “I wondered if we could go downstairs and –”

That’s what he’d thought she’d said. “No.”

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PseudoPod 463: Favors From Hell


Favors From Hell

by Zachary T. Owen


When I was eight years old I choked on the smoke from my Uncle’s cigar as he drove me to the toy store. My two year old brother slept soundly, buckled into his child safety seat in the back of Ernie’s Desoto.

‘Before we get there I need a favor,’ Ernie said, his mouth wide and his eyes staring at my blouse. He pulled off the road and stopped the car in an alley. ‘It will only take a minute, just you see,’ he promised. He leaned back in his seat and let out a long breath. His cigar smoke filled the car and my lungs.

He was right. It didn’t take long.