Archive for Holiday

Mayflower in Plymouth Harbor by William Halsall

PseudoPod 466: Bad Newes from New England

Show Notes

the story payment will be donated to RUNNING STRONG, a Native American charity.


Bad Newes from New England

by Moaner T. Lawrence


This act of goodwill stirred great cheer in the people of New Plimouth and, with freshly raised spirits, they bade the Wampanoag enter; opened home and hearth in the spirit of God, and offered to share their modest bounty; whereupon the Wampanoag made entrance, each savage family pairing off with one of our own. I, Chief Massasoit, the chief’s bodyguards, Hobomok, Captain Standish, and Pastor Brewster removed to Mr. Allteron’s house in front of the corn fields. Two of the chief’s children also joined us: His eldest son Wamsutta, a man of twenty years who was often short of patience, and suspicious of all Europeans, and his gentle daughter Amie, a girl of sixteen years who was ever amicable toward everyone. (Continue Reading…)

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PseudoPod 462B: Halloween Parade 2015


Happy Halloween!

This year’s Halloween Parade by Alasdair Stuart is being released as a bonus episode.

Check out his blog at http://alasdairstuart.com/ follow him on twitter @AlasdairStuart and grab a copy of his book The Pseudopod Tapes Vol 1: Not the end of the world, just the end of the year.

Halloween Parade music is “Ominousity” by Nick and Gerald, from MusicAlley.com.

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PseudoPod Christmas 2014 Bonus Flash: Tradition

Show Notes

“It was at WriterHouse in Charlottesville, Virginia that I founded a member group for sci fi, fantasy and horror writers to meet and support each other. It’s a fantastic group and they helped motivate me to write, edit and submit this piece. Winter holidays are usually such a happy time, I wanted to try and do something seasonal that was a lot darker. I’ve always liked the pagan tradition of bringing in evergreens to give nature spirits a place to live during the cold weather and this story really came out of that idea- manifesting the rituals into something a lot more sinister and corporeal. I find the loss of control and fear that comes with this setting quite unsettling”


Tradition

by L.M. Ball


It always starts when the leaves change colour. At first they’re yellow, then golden before fading to a russet brown. I like the red ones the best, even though you could say they are the most obvious sign of what’s to come. They give you a rake and they tell you to make piles of the leaves. Your parents I mean, not the leaves. Though that wouldn’t be all that strange, considering. Sometimes when they aren’t watching we play in them, making big piles and knocking them over. It should be fun and it is, when you can forget that winter’s coming.

I think they started it all off, with the weird traditions, cutting down trees and bringing them indoors. Decorating everything in red and green, something about berries. Didn’t they notice that blood’s red too? Mamma says she remembers a time when winter was exciting, decorating a tree with glitter and ornaments to make it pretty. We don’t decorate our tree. Before, people believed that bringing foliage indoors was to provide a home for nature spirits, now that’s its purpose. I guess if you believe in something strongly enough, you can make it manifest. When the ornaments started to fall off by themselves and shatter on the floor, when it happened more than once, people started to notice. That’s what Mamma says. She said it was hard not to feel nervous that something else was going on when your entire tree had thrown off its decorations like an unwanted layer of skin.

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Bonus PseudoPod Halloween Flash: Jack And The Bad Man


Jack And The Bad Man

by Annie Neugebauer


Most of the year, Jack was a fine enough boy. He almost always remembered to put his dirty socks in the hamper instead of under the bed. He certainly never hid his mama’s darning needles – except for when she deserved it. And if he occasionally didn’t go to sleep right when he told his papa he would, it was only because he was too afraid of the dark to turn out his light – and who can sleep with the light on? He hauled hay, set the table, did his schoolwork sometimes. Most of the year, Jack was a fine enough boy.

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Bonus Christmas Flash 2013 – Helpers


Helpers

by David Steffen


The boy crept out of the front door, distant streetlamps bouncing dim reflections off his smooth cheeks, breath misting in the chill air. Pete couldn’t help but smile. The boy was just the right size, old enough to have grown some real muscle but still well short of being a man. He was downright plump compared to the half-starved urchins Pete was used to. Strange for a boy with a family to be out at this time. Hadn’t his parents told him the night was populated by thieves and killers? Their loss.

“Ripe for the plucking, yes,” Pete whispered. “How tough, strong, how healthy.”

Vintage Thanksgiving Postcard 2

PseudoPod 362: Go, Go, Go, Said the Bird


Go, Go, Go, Said the Bird

by Sonya Dorman


Think of it, she conversed in great gasps with herself, leaping over a crevasse where a southbound lane had split off from the main runway. Think of it, she insisted, scarcely having breath left but unable to control her mind, which was galloping faster than her weary legs.

I’m only thirty, I’m unique, there’s no one in this world, this universe, who is me, with my memories:

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Bonus Christmas Flash 2011 – Coming Home

Show Notes

AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT….


Coming Home

by Maria Alexander


“My mouth is sour with whiskey and the loaded shotgun lays heavily across my lap in my sofa chair. This is my Christmas Eve ritual.”

Read the full text here: Gothic.net

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Pseudopod 260: Saint Nicholas’ Helper


Saint Nicholas’ Helper

by D.K. Thompson


Saint Nicholas looked just like he did in the picture stories: tall and thin, with a grand white beard that flowed to his waist. He wore a red-fur trimmed coat, a tall bishop’s hat, and clutched a gold staff. He smiled and said something, but Greta wasn’t listening. She hid behind her elder sister Heike and stared at the saint’s demonic assistant, Krampus.

A wooden mask covered the demon’s face, a wicked smile carved into it that did not shift. Krampus tilted his horned head, his black pupils focused on Greta through the eye slits. His dark coat of damp furs smelled of decay, and he was wrapped in chains that he shook at the children.

They’d come every year to her house, the saint and his assistant, but back then Greta’s father had been there to protect her.

Krampus brandished a long, thin switch and hissed.

Heike put a hand on Greta’s shoulder and whispered, “Don’t be scared. You’ve been good, right?”