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PseudoPod 008: Indications

Show Notes

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Indications

By Richard S. Crawford


Most days he could forget the symptoms when he got involved in his work; but the blemish on his neck preyed on his mind all morning, through the telephone calls, reports, and staff — staph? — meetings. At one point he thought about e-mailing his mother at the nursing school where she taught to describe the blemish to her. But then he thought better of the idea; even though she was used to it, he didn’t want to seem foolish if it was nothing but a pimple, after all.

Still, though. It preyed. Each time he thought about the spot, a cold stone would settle in his belly and tug at his heart, and he’d reach up, unthinking, to touch it. Was it warmer than the surrounding skin? Or was that just his imagination?

PseudoPod 007: Drawing the Moon

Show Notes

Happy Friday the 13th!

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Drawing the Moon

by Janni Lee Simner


Once the light got in, it snaked up the walls, hundreds of little silver strands of it, and the strands wove themselves into pictures.

The pictures were of his parents. They showed Andrew the night Mom and Dad had disappeared, over and over, until the hurt in his chest got so bad he thought he would explode. He tried closing his eyes, but even through closed eyelids he could see the scenes the moon painted — all in silver, with none of Elizabeth’s colors, but sharp and real just the same. He saw Mom and Dad walking down the city street, holding hands, Elizabeth and Andrew just behind them. He saw the mugger jump out of the shadows. He saw Mom being hit and falling to the ground, where her head smashed against the pavement. He saw the knife go through Dad’s chest.

But in the pictures, Mom died of the falling, and Dad died of the stabbing. That wasn’t right at all.

The moon had stolen Andrew’s parents. So why would it draw him pictures in which that hadn’t happened, in which other things had happened instead? Andrew wondered about that for many nights before he came up with an answer.

The moon didn’t want him to know what it had done. Or now that he knew, it wanted him to forget.

PseudoPod 006: What Dead People Are Supposed to Do

Show Notes

Also, we are proud to be sponsored this week by the custom book binder Dreaming Mind. Beautiful custom made books, portfolios and other products.
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What Dead People Are Supposed to Do

By Paul E. Martens.


Iris said it was wrong of me to have Dad brought back from the dead to work off his debts. But I didn’t ask him to run up the balances on all those credit cards. I think a son should be entitled to inherit something from his parents. Am I wrong?

PseudoPod 005: Sacred Skin

Show Notes

 

A bit of news: Pseudopod has officially gone weekly, so no more waiting two weeks for full-length stories! We’ll still throw in flash now and then but on Fridays you can count on a story from us.


Sacred Skin

by Michael Stone


Hodges threaded the other foot into the skin and eased it up over Heatherstone’s shins. It was a tight fit. Hodges was surprised at his master’s tolerance. He bore the scratches from the rough seams, bones and shells without complaint. This man threw a tantrum if his bath water was one degree above his preferred temperature, or the butler arrived a minute late with his pudding. No one had ever accused Lord Heatherstone of bearing discomfort stoically. When the skin reached halfway up his thighs, Heatherstone stood and tugged it over his privates. He sat down again gingerly to allow Hodges to thread his arms through and fasten the skin at the back with laces of black sinew. Hodges began to tighten the straps at the ankles, working quickly in the dim light. Lord Heatherstone plucked indelicately at the crotch. “Is my lord all right?” asked Rider.

“Not really. Why should I be defending myself against something that could be repelled by the, er . . .”

“The Ayat al-Kursi? The Phylacteries?”

“Yes. Those.”