PseudoPod 018: Oranges, Lemons and Thou Beside Me


Oranges, Lemons and Thou Beside Me

By Eugie Foster

With fingers still lightly dusted with confectioner’s powder, Khloii reached for the I/O wire that would meld them together, letting them share the memories of the last eight years. As children, after their implants had been installed, the learning programs downloaded and processed, they had double interfaced mind-to-mind. Their minds so similar, forged together now by circuitry and wire, sharing sensation, thoughts, memories, and emotions, they had become closer than brother and sister, even twins of the same womb. They spent hours silently communing, at last not even trying to hide their obsession with each other. Sabin caught her hand before she could press the needle-thin plug into the port at the base of his skull. “You want to live eight years of war?”

PseudoPod 017: Upon The Midnight Clear

Show Notes

Music provided by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society


Upon The Midnight Clear

By Stephen Dedman

She was mercifully quiet for a while, as though thinking of something to say. “Must be difficult, though, travelling on your own. Dangerous, even.”

I laughed, probably for the first time since the plane landed. I’d heard that too often before, too. “Dangerous? This place?” She looked and sounded sincere enough, though it was hard to be sure with that make-up and accent. “I teach jeet kune do and self-defence. The scariest thing I’ve seen since I got here was Phantom of the Opera. I admit, I didn’t actually plan to be making this trip alone, but my fiance dumped me in November, and I was stuck with the ticket. I’m enjoying it more than I expected. So, what have you got around here that’s dangerous? Serial killers? Or just drunks?”

She was silent for a moment. “Are you superstitious?”

I laughed. “I’m not even Californian.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No.”

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.

Flash Fiction: From Famine to Feast

Show Notes

Happy Thanksgiving, and bon appetit!


From Famine to Feast

by Stephanie Campisi

The boy’s face was a thick, fluid rendering of blowflies. They crusted his eyes like false lashes, and crawled around his chapped, broken lips, their shimmering wings vibrating against their fat black bodies. The boy’s stomach was distended; he looked like a spoon, with the bulging, swooping curve of his gut leading into his rail-thin upper body. His ribs protruded; it were as though he had swallowed a birdcage that was pushing out from within.

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?