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PseudoPod 358: Apathetic Flesh


Apathetic Flesh

by Darren O. Godfrey


If you were to stop and think about it, you wouldn’t really be able to say why it is you watch these films; though, as a child, you enjoyed being frightened, and some of the movies did that; and as a teenager you enjoyed being shocked (and perhaps a little revolted) and the “splatter” films fit that bill nicely. But now, at an ancient and creaking twenty-seven years of age, the movies – horror, splatter, or otherwise – no longer seem to have any effect on you. Nil.

But still you watch them.

And think about it is something you never do anyway, so, tonight, you merely chew stale popcorn and gawk at the silver screen where the lead zombie (nicknamed Harley) effortlessly tears a young woman’s head from her quivering white shoulders, delicately tongues one of her eyeballs, sucks it from its socket. Harley chews it, apparently savoring the taste, and the only discomfort you feel is the rock-hard lump against the small of your back, a special feature of all the seats in the Chief Theater. No point in moving. So you don’t.

Until it’s over (completely over; every last credit read and recorded in your junkshop mind), at which time you stand and brush salt and popcorn bits from your jeans.

‘Well, that was fun,’ you say to no one as you step into the aisle and make for the glowing green EXIT.

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EA Metacast – October, 2013 – THE SHORT VERSION


Thank you so much for the initial response to the problems at Escape Artists. As per several requests, this is the TL:DR version of the situation. For those wanting full details, a free piece of flash fiction, and the opportunity to hear celebrity shout outs and all your editorial staff assembled in one, please listen to the Metacast (see below)


1. Escape Artists has a major cash problem. This has been caused by a massive increase in the amount of listeners which has not been accompanied by an increase in donations. In fact those have started to decrease. This situation is unsustainable and we will close at the end of 2013 without a major increase in subscriptions.


2. Click anywhere on this line for the 44 minute meta-cast from all three shows explaining this.


3. We need money. There are two ways to do this either by donating or subscribing. One off donations are lovely and we’re incredibly grateful. Subscriptions cost you much less and raise our base level of funds on a monthly basis. Those are going to help much more in the mid term.


4. This is Escape Pod’s Homepage. Click on the DONATE or SUBSCRIBE buttons on the right hand side.


5. This is Pseudopod’s Homepage. Click on the DONATE or SUBSCRIBE buttons on the right hand side.


6. This is the Podcastle Homepage. Click on the DONATE or SUBSCRIBE buttons on the right hand side.


7. Click here to donate via Dwolla. Our ID is 812-527-2340. This is an ID number, not a phone number.


I know this is inconvenient and I’m sorry. Any other link will time out to a PayPal login.


That’s it. Thanks for the help.

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PseudoPod 357: Growth Spurt


Growth Spurt

by Paul Lorello


Day 1 – UPS delivered them today in an envelope and inside that was a pouch like Pop Rocks. I closed the blinds and the curtains and it was real dark and I couldn’t hardly read the instructions. I tore open the pouch and poured this stuff like sand into the tank. I’d made a cool cover for it taking the box it came in and cutting off the top and painting inside it like black. It’s cool. They said to just put them in the dark but if you have a cover that’s better. I fed them with one of the freeze dried blood caps that was included but I think I added too much water. I hate it that I screwed stuff up right at the beginning. I’ll know by tomorrow night I guess.

Mom and Dad are yelling at each other. They think I can’t hear them.


Day 2 – I guess I didn’t add too much water after all. There are only seven caps included in the kit. After a week I start them on real food. Grace’s hamster is preggers. Good snacks for my guys coming soon.

I got made fun of for writing everything down. Grace and Mom ganged up on me. And they laughed when I told them every scientist writes stuff down. Then Grace said I wasn’t a scientist. Then Dad came home and everyone stopped laughing.

I want my guys to grow already. Under “Gestation Period” it says you should see results in about two weeks. Two weeks is waaayyyyyy too long!

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EA Fundraiser – Montreal


HELLO ALL!

Craig Mackie is holding a fund-raiser for ESCAPE ARTISTS in Montreal this Friday, October 25, 2013.

There will be live readings of weird fiction by Eric Lis, Marta Barnes, Gregg Chamberlin, Dean Garlick and Rob Kimsey. By Donation. A fund-raiser for three fantastic sister podcasts: Pseudopod, Podcastle and Escape Pod.

https://www.facebook.com/events/255534427929123/?ref_dashboard_filter=calendar

Please check it out if you can!

Shawn Garrett
Editor, Pseudopod

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PseudoPod 356: The Night Wire


The Night Wire

by H.F. Arnold


There is something ungodly about these night wire jobs. You sit up here on the top floor of a skyscraper and listen in to the whispers of a civilization. New York, London, Calcutta, Bombay, Singapore — they’re your next-door neighbors after the streetlights go dim and the world has gone to sleep.

Alone in the quiet hours between two and four, the receiving operators doze over their sounders and the news comes in. Fires and disasters and suicides. Murders, crowds, catastrophes. Sometimes an earthquake with a casualty list as long as your arm. The night wire man takes it down almost in his sleep, picking it off on his typewriter with one finger.

Once in a long time you prick up your ears and listen. You’ve heard of some one you knew in Singapore, Halifax or Paris, long ago. Maybe they’ve been promoted, but more probably they’ve been murdered or drowned. Perhaps they just decided to quit and took some bizarre way out. Made it interesting enough to get in the news.

But that doesn’t happen often. Most of the time you sit and doze and tap, tap on your typewriter and wish you were home in bed.

Sometimes, though, queer things happen. One did the other night, and I haven’t got over it yet. I wish I could. (Continue Reading…)

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EA Metacast, October 2013


An urgent update on the status of Escape Artists, its three podcasts, our plans for the future and why we desperately need your help getting there.

Escape Artists, Inc.
P.O. Box 83
Woodstock, GA 30188

Additional music provided by D-Form – http://www.reverbnation.com/dform
Sound effects provided by users kasa90 (http://freesound.org/people/kasa90/) and TasmanianPower (http://freesound.org/people/TasmanianPower/) of FreeSound.org

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PseudoPod 355: The Chair


The Chair

by Leah Thomas


Gus accidentally crushed his wife’s cochlea during breakfast.

The spiraling piece of inner ear was almost the exact same shade of beige as the tablecloth his Great Aunt had given them at their wedding; Gwen couldn’t have expected him to spot it when he set down the jar of marmalade. She should have left the cochlea in her earhole where it belonged, but she had taken to removing it while she slept and only jamming it back into the side of her skull again moments before stumbling out the door on her way to the unemployment office.

The dislocated eardrum emitted the strangest sound as it was flattened, like the squeaking of fingertips against dry teeth.

The naked bones of Gwen’s knuckles clicked when she lifted the jar. Although neither of her eyesockets — one an echoing black hole, the other occupied by a myopic, amber-irised eyeball — were framed by brows or lids, and although she could not afford a crinkled forehead, Gus could read the expression on her skull as easily as he could any face with a complete set of features. Had her tear glands not been on layaway, she might have wept. Had her nose been more than a few strips of cartilage, she may have sniffled.

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PseudoPod 354: The Eulogy Of Darien Meek

Show Notes

Music under Shawn’s message is “Happy Birthday Chopin Ballade” by Mario Ajero, from Music Alley.


The Eulogy Of Darien Meek

by Niccolo Skill


“Thank you for coming,” the usher said and held the door for the latest guest. Tom nodded and mouthed a ‘thank you’ but didn’t feel it in him to say the actual words. A time and place for everything, after all.

Twin dark wood doors opened up to a high-ceiling-ed main room. The windows were stained half the colors of the rainbow. The room was awash in vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows. A splash of green dotted the refreshment table and the faintest lines of blue hung over the altar. A faint musky smell, not quite strong enough to be offensive, wafted out the door.

Clusters of relatives milled about, exchanging the usual family gossip. Tom tucked himself into the corner by the restrooms.