Pseudopod 028: Lorna


By Alasdair Stuart

Read by Stephen Eley

She leaned closer to him, conspiratorially. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he noticed her breath didn’t smell of alcohol. “You know how most people have a job?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a calling.”

He looked at her, his face carefully neutral. “And that is?”

“I’m what Guardian Angels dream of being. I protect one person from harm for their entire life, until their time has come.”

Psycho. Make your excuses. “I think I should be going.”

Links mentioned in intro:

Pseudopod 027: My Caroline

Show Notes

Mur’s intro says this is episode 26, but the filename and webpage say it is episode 27. Who is to say which is correct? Time and arithmetic do not operate the same for PSEUDOPOD as they do for the normal world.


By Matt Wallace

Read by J.C. Hutchins

I came home this evening to many strange little details. The darkness. Caroline’s open door. Caroline herself. The sole light in this beautifully rendered powdering room. I noticed all these things, but I really didn’t pay them any mind.

Now I see Caroline’s face floating in the sink, and there is nothing else on my mind.

 

P.S…. J.C. Hutchins and another Pseudopod co-conspirator, Scott Sigler, were recently featured in an interesting NY Times article on podcasting and publishing. Check it out. (Registration may be required to see the article. Such is life.)

Pseudopod 026: Flat Diane


By Daniel Abraham

Read by Stephen Eley

In the picture, Flat Diane has been taped around a wide pillar, her arms and legs bending back out of sight. A long black cloth wraps across where the eyes might be, had Ian drawn them in; a blindfold.

The man who Ian doesn’t know, has never met, is caressing a drawn-in breast. His tongue protrudes from his viciously grinning mouth, its tip flickering distance from the silhouette’s thigh. He looks not like Satan, but like someone who wishes that he were, someone trying very hard to be.

The writing on the back of the photograph is block letters, written in blue felt-tip.

It reads: Flat Diane has gone astray.

A new photograph comes every week. Some might be amusing to another person; most make him want to retch.

The best trick Hell has to play against its inmates is to whisper to them that this — this now — is the bottom. Nothing can be worse than this. And then to pull the floor away.

Pseudopod 025: Fetching Pepé


By K. A. Patterson

Read by Mur Lafferty

In the photo he was holding a large, thick black snake. Three other large snakes encircled his neck and legs.

“That’s me, Zorbo the Great, snake charmer extraordinaire! Now I am retired. No longer working for circus. I do lecture tour now. Talk to children ’bout snakes. Make them no worry that snakes might bite them. Tell them not all snakes are hurtful.”

“That’s wonderful,” Carol said, impressed. “What am I to do for you and Mrs. Dicicco?”

“You help me get Pepé.” Zorbo said, taking a moment to puff on his pipe.

The tobacco he used gave off a pleasant, fruity scent.

“Pepé?”