Archive for Podcasts

Pseudopod 024: Honest Ghosts


By Stephen Dedman

Read by Ben Phillips

“I thought that having the name would be enough – I remember you saying that we remember the Ripper and the Boston Strangler and Zodiac because they had cool names, while almost nobody remembers John Haigh or George Smith or Jerry Brudos. I wrote to the police and the papers, but I don’t think they’ve taken me seriously… but if you were to write a letter, it’d be different. You’re a writer, you know how it should be done, what it should say.”

Pseudopod 023: Civilized Monsters


By Johnny Compton

Read by George Hrab

“You see that?” Randolph asked, referring to the dingy shard of bone within the bag. “Recognize it?”

Before Kyle could answer, a thump sounded through the ceiling.

Randolph looked up but kept the gun aimed at Kyle’s face. “Hanna? Is that you? It’s ten o’clock, I figured you’d be asleep by now. Why don’t you come downstairs–?”

“Hanna stay up there!” Kyle shouted. “Randolph’s down here with a gun and he’s lost his mind.?”

A second later, the red light on the base of the kitchen phone blinked.

“You’re going to call the police?” Randolph asked Hanna. “Go right ahead. I’m sure they’d be as interested as I am to know where you’re keeping the bodies.”

PseudoPod 022: Them Eyes


By Nicholas Ozment

Read by Stephen Eley

She’s standing in the kitchen. She’s on the phone. She’s got it to her right ear, ‘cuz pulpy head-juice is runnin’ down her left ear. She’s talking into the phone.

“Guess what your son-in-law did this time? He killed me.”

I grab the phone out of her gore-soaked hand, slam it down all sticky onto the receiver. I yell at her.

“You know what you just did?! You just signed your mother’s death warrant.”

PseudoPod 021: Fetal Position


Fetal Position

by Joel Arnold


And now Rudy opened the box?s lid, his fingers responding to the familiarity of his name carved carefully into the top. He lifted the dried cord from it and placed it carefully in the water. It reacted to its new environment, expanding and uncoiling in the water?s warm comfort. He took a small penknife from his pant?s pocket and jabbed his middle finger. Small droplets of blood welled from the wound and he let them fall into the warm tap water. A few drops were all it needed.

The thing in the sink squirmed and writhed. He took off his shirt. Took a deep breath. Looked at himself in the mirror. Funny, the little surprises life tosses you, he thought.