PseudoPod 025: Fetching Pepé


Fetching Pepé

by K. A. Patterson


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?”

PseudoPod 024: Honest Ghosts


Honest Ghosts

by Stephen Dedman


“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


Civilized Monsters

by Johnny Compton


“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

Show Notes

What is time? Episode numbers are a construct of an uncaring world.


Them Eyes

by Nicholas Ozment


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.”