Archive for Stories

PseudoPod 016: Medicinal

Show Notes

Today’s Sponsor:


Medicinal

by Peter King

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.

PseudoPod 015: Regis St. George

Show Notes

Today’s Sponsor:


Regis St. George

by Maria Deira

“Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. Regis St. George hell,” he moaned.

“Yeah, I sent you to hell,” I said.

“Why, please, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa?” He looked at me, his crooked fingers pulling at his hair. I almost felt sorry for the little bastard.

Almost.

“Because that’s where you belong.”

“Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. Deal. Regis St. George. Deal. Hell not deal,” he said, shaking his head.

“First of all, you ate my cat,” I said.

Regis St. George grinned at me, baring a mouth full of sharp, little teeth.

PseudoPod 014: Virginia Woods


Virginia Woods

by Janni Lee Simner

The wind brushed her cheek — had it ever stopped? It whistled through the leaves, high and sharp, crying like an animal in pain.

No, not an animal. Ice trickled down Eleanor’s spine. A child. Her child.

“Virginia?” The wind continued to cry. “Virginia, where are you?” Eleanor started forward, in the direction of the voice, then stopped when she felt herself trembling. Would she really find her daughter? Or just another mangled body, nothing human left to it?

PseudoPod 013: Redmond’s Private Screening


Redmond’s Private Screening

by Kevin J. Anderson

Redmond laughed nervously. His face had too many freckles, his skin was too pasty, his personality too slippery. “A lot of people are trying to get into this new movie business, but not usually by killing themselves on film.” He sheathed the blade and handed the slim katana back.

Michael frowned at how low he himself had fallen, how disappointed the spirits of his own dead family must be. “Most directors do not wish to photograph such a spectacle either, and most patrons do not wish to see the result. But there are exceptions everywhere.” He gave Redmond a cold stare. “You and I know how to find them.”

The director raised his chin, pontificating. “Fifteen years ago, people flocked to nickelodeons to see a man sneeze, to watch a waterfall or a running horse. Today, we’ve got to give them something more for their money, eh?”

“I’m sure we do.”

With a deaf ear for his assistant’s sarcasm, Redmond strutted around the floor, looking at the natural light, at the position of the white blanket, but Michael had already set everything up perfectly. The three Japanese followed the director with their eyes, like animals in a cage.

PseudoPod 012: Skinwalker: Deception


Skinwalker: Deception

by M.B. Nelson

Delores took a long swallow of tea. It scalded her throat, but she didn’t care. Pain was her friend now, and physical pain at least gave her the feeling she was alive, that she still continued. The cicadas hummed, the sheep bleated to be out of their pens, the dogs barked, the world went on whirling, and Monty was dead. It didn’t seem possible that this day would arrive, and now that it had she felt — what?

PseudoPod 011: Killing Jars


Killing Jars

by Matt Wallace

His three judges, each face lit by two candle flames, are suspicious, and in and around them It seizes on that suspicion. It craves blood the color of their priestly robes.

He lies, the divine’s voice sounds inside his own skull, though it is not him speaking. The devil that dwells within him spits upon the one true God’s deliverance. He will destroy you. They will see the Holy Church to ash.

“Heresy! Heresy!” Words of fervor and hot spittle that teem like maggots in the divine’s beard.

And this pious man feels the power of a tyrant, terrifying and intoxicating and It pushing him closer towards the moth-to-flame lure of that feeling. When they haul Reimbauer towards the vaulted ceiling, a gothic mockery of ascension, spiked collar around his neck peeling the top layer of flesh with every spasmodic jerk of his head, red veined salmon pink beneath.

PseudoPod 010: Turista


Turista

by Joel Arnold

” – the chicken or maybe the chocolate. Could’ve been the chocolate. Wasn’t wrapped. That’s not a good sign. That’s never a good sign.”

Portman wondered how long she had been talking. He had given up responding to her conversations earlier in the evening, shortly before the sun had finished stretching long shadows across the highway like dirty taffy. It took too much effort to talk. Too much energy to respond. He sensed that China knew this, and felt maybe she was talking to him to keep herself awake. Sometimes he was thankful for her voice, and other times it was unbearable.

He took another weak sip of water. It felt like a dull knife jabbing him in the guts. But he was dehydrated. He needed more. He took a deep breath, raised the jug to his lips and poured it down his throat. When the water hit his stomach, it was like an explosion of glass. He fell to his side gasping for air, wheezing, trying to hold the water down. The thing in his stomach –

PseudoPod 009: Counting From Ten


Counting From Ten

by Michael Montoure

Jack shoved his chair back, stood, backed away, turned at the last minute and carefully did not run down the hallway to the bathroom. He walked, and raided his medicine cabinet for gauze, alcohol, tape, anything that looked useful.

He came back, led Tommy over to the kitchen sink, and carefully pulled the bandages off.

Tommy’s right hand had only the ring finger and thumb left.