Pseudopod 019: Through the Many Corridors


By Douglas F. Warrick

Read by Ben Phillips

It was weird, wasn’t it? Weird how little it impressed him. It was an alien world, after all, a whole new planet, a landscape that held only a vague familiarity with the world he’d been born in, the atmosphere he’d inhaled for twenty-nine years. Maybe that’s it. It was just congruent enough to orient yourself, to fool yourself into thinking you were okay here. Up was up, down was down, you could breathe the air. But you weren’t okay here. You were drawn into this landscape by a different artist using a different pallet and a different technique and you just weren’t okay here.

Art took the cigarette out of his mouth and pointed up ahead. “Chalkie.”

It was at the very edge of the road with its long doughy fingers wrapped over the top of the metal barrier. Its skin was dry, dusty, cracked and curling like old paint, and dull white like chalk. Its tiny black eyes were set deep into its face, which was long and snoutish and bald. Even when nothing on this planet seemed to reflect the glow of that big red moon, the bleeding moon, those eyes picked it up like deep black wells.

Pseudopod 018: Oranges, Lemons and Thou Beside Me


Oranges, Lemons and Thou Beside Me

By Eugie Foster


With fingers still lightly dusted with confectioner’s powder, Khloii reached for the I/O wire that would meld them together, letting them share the memories of the last eight years. As children, after their implants had been installed, the learning programs downloaded and processed, they had double interfaced mind-to-mind. Their minds so similar, forged together now by circuitry and wire, sharing sensation, thoughts, memories, and emotions, they had become closer than brother and sister, even twins of the same womb. They spent hours silently communing, at last not even trying to hide their obsession with each other. Sabin caught her hand before she could press the needle-thin plug into the port at the base of his skull. “You want to live eight years of war?”

Pseudopod 017: Upon The Midnight Clear

Show Notes

Music provided by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society


Upon The Midnight Clear

By Stephen Dedman


She was mercifully quiet for a while, as though thinking of something to say. “Must be difficult, though, travelling on your own. Dangerous, even.”

I laughed, probably for the first time since the plane landed. I’d heard that too often before, too. “Dangerous? This place?” She looked and sounded sincere enough, though it was hard to be sure with that make-up and accent. “I teach jeet kune do and self-defence. The scariest thing I’ve seen since I got here was Phantom of the Opera. I admit, I didn’t actually plan to be making this trip alone, but my fiance dumped me in November, and I was stuck with the ticket. I’m enjoying it more than I expected. So, what have you got around here that’s dangerous? Serial killers? Or just drunks?”

She was silent for a moment. “Are you superstitious?”

I laughed. “I’m not even Californian.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No.”

Pseudopod 016: Medicinal


By Peter King

Read by Ben Phillips and Mur Lafferty

When this first started I would scream or panic or even go for the window. The only thing I can do now is whisper.

To her. To me.

“That’s not the guy, Lorainne,” I say under my breath, but it does me no good because the thoughts keep coming.

–transverse cervical–

“Besides, you’re dead, Lorainne. And I’ll never find him. That guy over there… that’s not the guy.”

It does no good, because my head still goes all swimmy. Whatever is trapped up there… it can wait no more.
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