Posts Tagged ‘Devil’

PseudoPod 062 Replay: Faith in Sips and Bites


We are digging a classic from the vault and reloading it into your queues anew. We hope that it makes you consider diving into our decade of back-catalog.

Michael Chant writes fiction, poetry, and reviews of books, music, and film. His work has appeared in Strange HorizonsTwilight Showcase, Quantum Muse, Electric Wine, The Chiaroscuro, Nocturnal Ooze, and GC Magazine.

Your narrator is the Lich King, Ben Phillips.


If you are reading this, we must’ve done it. I’m going to tell as much as I can. You newspaper people will have to clean up the spelling. Going to have your work cut out for you. Make it pretty for the front page. Crazy thinking something I write is going to be on the front page. That’s the Lord working in His mysterious ways again. Got to type it out. When I write it out longhand it looks like Chinese. Just have to hunt and peck as best I can. Can’t write no more. Hands shake too much. Nerve damage. All of us got it now.


In Kristi Demeester’s novel BENEATH we have a pastor struggling with a crisis of faith, and an investigative journalist endeavoring to subdue shadows of the past to shield from the greater darkness to come. We have an innocent touched by that darkness that wants to catalyze her to transform the world from that which we know to one of Stygian dreaming.

The cover art is phenomenal. Considering our troubled preacher, it evoked feelings like those from Night of the Hunter, particularly the impressive shot of the underwater grave. Does the stone keep her grounded and prevents her from floating away? Is the snake and her faith keeping her connected or tempting her elsewhere? Which is the shackle and which is salvation? Beautifully executed, and perfect for the conflict within.

More about the book at Word Horde.

 

 

PseudoPod 489: The Devil In Rutledge County


The Devil In Rutledge County

by Victoria Hoke


It was my fault. It happened ’cause I prayed to the Devil.

Of course I prayed to God first. I prayed every night since I realized Pa was a drunk. Not a joker or a hothead or a layabout — a drunk. I prayed God would make him quit drinking. I prayed God would turn him back to the easy-laughing man who took us fishing on Saturdays.

I prayed whenever I heard Pa retching in the backyard at dawn.

I prayed whenever the constable’s boys dragged him home at midnight.

I prayed when Essie got bit on the heel by a copperhead, and Pa was face-down in bed, and there was only one other person we could turn to.

PseudoPod 335: Charlie Harmer’s Day Off

Show Notes

While “Charlie Harmer’s Day Off” is appearing for the first time in Pseudopod, there are other stories featuring the character: “Charlie Harmer Looks Back” also appeared on Pseudopod and “Charlie Harmer’s Last Request” appeared in the BOOK OF DEAD THINGS anthology from Twilight Tales, which is available on Amazon and other fine booksellers.


Charlie Harmer’s Day Off

by Brendan Detzner


A ghost is a dead person with a job. When you’re alive, you split your time. You work, you sleep. When you’re dead, the line gets blurrier. You switch between one and the other quickly, or do both at once. You lose track of time a lot.

There are similarities. I still have a boss. I don’t know much about her, I have no clear memory of ever meeting her for the first time. She has long brown hair.

A few days after my conversation with Darius, the boss calls a staff meeting. We meet in the Orange Room. The gang’s all here. Neil from the laundromat. The bloody torso. The asshole with no skin that no one takes seriously. (The torso is literal, the asshole is figurative.) The little girl who never talks. Others. Somehow the table is as long as it needs to be to fit everyone and no longer.

The brunette is the last to arrive. She looks tired. She never looks tired. She glances to her side before she says anything. She’s nervous. That’s not right either.

The skinless asshole is sitting in the privileged place to her right.

He’s wearing a tuxedo, his white collar stained by the blood and pus dripping down from his face. His name’s Gary. He’s got three names like all the bullshit serial killers have three names.

‘We’re going to make some changes,’ the boss says, and she sounds guilty.

She explains. I’m working for Gary now. Not just me. Lots of us.

PseudoPod 313: The Dead Sexton


The Dead Sexton

by J. Sheridan Le Fanu


The sunsets were red, the nights were long, and the weather pleasantly frosty; and Christmas, the glorious herald of the New Year, was at hand, when an event—still recounted by winter firesides, with a horror made delightful by the mellowing influence of years—occurred in the beautiful little town of Golden Friars, and signalized, as the scene of its catastrophe, the old inn known throughout a wide region of the Northumbrian counties as the George and Dragon.

Toby Crooke, the sexton, was lying dead in the old coach-house in the inn yard. The body had been discovered, only half an hour before this story begins, under strange circumstances, and in a place where it might have lain the better part of a week undisturbed; and a dreadful suspicion astounded the village of Golden Friars. (Continue Reading…)