There were more than a few of the planks that could become chairs, but Lucas passed them by. None of them were suitable for the likes of Lord Adelard. The vampire wished to appear powerful. There was only one kind of wood in the cellar that fit that description. He squeezed back, back, back, into the furthest reaches, where once mice and rats might have made a home, back before the rats and mice had found themselves in stewpots and on skewers.

He lifts the onion to the lantern’s lone light, and in it, I suddenly see: the goldwork towers and walls of the Old City; the broken bridge, jagged after a recent bombing yet still shining; rows of humble houses etched in ebullient metal; the curve and sway of the historical museum. I reach out my hand, and he drops the city into it. It feels warm in my palm.

Her family brings their best to the table and talk unreservedly in their first language. Rviv cannot keep up with the conversation. She understands the words, the phrases, but not why they make her parents laugh or grimace. They reference a place Rviv has never seen and a history she has not lived. The stranger and her parents commiserate about living in such a strange country. Together they laugh at the way the Cuialo smile with their teeth and eat meat with their hands. Her parents wait with excruciating patience to ask what news of home.

"Grandpa, you don't have to." Dovan's little hand rests inside his. Cyfris closes his fingers around it. "I know I said before that I wanted you to tell everything, but I changed my mind. You don't need to tell this part."

“We found something,” Matias began. He had rehearsed what he would say and was determined now to watch their expressions. To see if this was a revelation for them—or if they already knew. “We’re expanding the palace kitchens, putting in a new hearth and tables. The builders knocked out a wall—turns out it was a closet that had been sealed up. In the closet was a body.”

The Poet Laureate was fetched from his retirement in a lighthouse on the far shore of the Founder Mer to compose a song of eighty-six interlocked stanzas like steps on a stairway spiraling down into a cool dim quiet. But on the forty-seventh stanza of its recitation, the Governor squinted into the space over the Poet's shoulder and said, "listen, any deeper and we shall hear the words those beasts sing as they pass" and demanded that the previous stanzas be read in reverse; "back to the surface," he said.

27. Parsifal confessed to me that she has never dreamed of Valis. Not once. In her youth, she learned of the city in a book: a philosophical dialogue where a poet, a knight, a musician, and a madman argue about the nature of reality while awaiting the arrival of a fifth person. Near the end, the madman recounts the story of Valis, which the others think is nonsense. Parsifal disagreed, and the city quickly became an obsession (she herself used the word 'obsession'). She said all this while pacing back and forth, refusing to look me in the face until the end.

Whatever the mallepulpus’s moral stature, it would not allow its enemies an uneventful exit. Even as Jacob, dripping and shivering, urged the Abbess and the canonesses to back away from the shore, a portion of the swamp coalesced into a roaring and amorphous mass of silt and muck. With a noise like a thousand oxen breaking wind, the monstrous pudding detached itself from Paludis Cochlea, flopped onto the shore, and undulated forward, seeking to suffocate its parent bog’s tormentors.

Rugg was ready to turn back and try to make Ganvill when a bright dot of light appeared through the churning murk of the storm: a campfire. Never trust a light too bright in a dark hole, the speaking goes, but then he smelled roasting meat. And then he heard the flute. A sweet, sad little song, a flutter of music. Bone flutes had a tone distinct from those carved of wood or reed; lonelier, somehow. A sweet breath of music sighing out to the wild.

The Somnambulant by Sam W. Pisciotta   The moon sits plump within a windowpane as if plucked from the sky and framed for safekeeping. Bound by forces beyond our control, the moon and I share a yearning to pull free. I touch my finger on the icy glass and dream of leaving this place. But […]

Flight by Charlie Sorrenson   Now They are coming out of the woods when Mateo grabs one of Maggie’s wings and tugs, hard. This has long been his way of getting her attention and she has always let him do it, wanting to be a good mother, reminding herself that this is a phase, that […]

Potemora in the Triad By Sara S. Messenger   There are always three: the father, the unfather, and the child. That’s why Vriskiaab threw my unfather off his back after she bore my baby sister, or so Vriskiaab tells me when he stops in the shade of a dune, his massive scales warm under my […]

This variation on the elixir of life pairs the flavour of roasted roc with the medicinal potency of the philosopher’s stone. But buyer beware: this dish isn’t for everyone.

Dip and Roll by Celeste Rita Baker On de largest beach of de smallest island in de Tania archipelago in de Caribbean Sea five shoreside metamorphic beachrocks sit chatting, as dey have done for de last hundred and sixty-odd years. “Hey, allyou. I leaving soon. You hear me? Dis place ain’t gon’ be de same,” […]

Squalor and Sympathy by Matt Dovey Anna concentrated on the cold, on the freezing water around her feet and the bruising sensation in her toes. So cold. So cold. So cold, she thought. A prickling warmth like pins and needles crackled inside her feet. It coursed through her body to her clenched hands and into the lead alloy […]

They have never fought about it. “It’s your body,” her husband says, and means it. Only sometimes, when they’re out walking, a little girl will careen across their path roaring like a giggly tyrannosaurus, and he falls silent. “What’re you thinking about?” she asks, before she learns not to.

The glass bottles are caked with so much grime you can’t see what’s in them anymore. It’s better that way because you don’t think you’d be able to do what you need to, if you could. You fish the knife out of your canvas bag, and a lighter with just enough fluid for one more flash of fire. This is your first time—but you’ve seen your mother do the same thing countless times before. Before she made her first mistake. Before you were forced to take her place.

In the land that is now Malaysia, there once was a tribe of monkeys called the Mawahs, whose king was appointed by King Solomon to be the Raja of the jungle. Raja Mawah built himself a throne on the south bank of the Perak River and ruled the jungle fairly.

It's so dark. Black-orange-bloody-bruised. Flashlights throw long beams across the sand. Police lights flicker blue and red, blue and red, blue and red, and the Ferris wheel on the pier glows an obscene neon. No one thought to turn off the calliope. It echoes off the empty boardwalk, cheerfully macabre.

PodCastle 625: Salt and Iron Salt and Iron By Gem Isherwood There’s a gash across her cheekbone, glass in her arm and her lower lip is twice the size it should be, but Dagna Müller is hardly a stranger to pain. She slumps on the steps outside th… There’s a gash across her cheekbone, glass in her arm and her lower lip is twice the size it should be, but Dagna Müller is hardly a stranger to pain. She slumps on the steps outside the tavern, feeling her nose to check if it’s broken again. via Po… PodCastle 625 Salt and Iron - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2SE4QFu

PodCastle 626: DOUBLE FEATURE! A Sharp Breath of Birds; A Guide to Birds by Song (After Death) Authors : Tina Connolly and A.C. Wise Narrators : Tina Connolly and Dani Daly Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums … PodCastle 626 DOUBLE FEATURE! A Sharp Breath of Birds; A Guide to Birds by Song (After Death) - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2WptETR You are two on the day you see your first personal bird. It is the sort of thing you barely remember later, at six, seven, twenty. via Pocket

PodCastle 627: We Are the Flower Author : Claire Humphrey Narrator : Jen R. Albert Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums PodCastle 627: We Are the Flower is a PodCastle original. Rated PG-13. Includes copious F… I didn’t clue in until I saw the ghost bike chained to a signpost on Adelaide, near a corner. I was stopped up close, and I looked down and the angles of the frame were familiar. A Cannondale CAAD 5, just like mine. via Pocket

PodCastle 628: Vincent’s Penny Author : Chris Barnham Narrator : Matt Dovey Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums Dimension6, Issue 16 (April 2019). Rated PG. Vincent’s Penny By Chris Barnham  May 1941 I’m … I’m a child this time. Five or six years old. Fully clothed under a bed, on a wooden floor. I touch a hand to my throat, but there is nothing there. I examine my hands and arms, astonished by the smoothness of the skin. At last, I crawl out from ben…

PodCastle 615: Field Reports from the Department of Monster Resettlement Author : L. Chan Narrator : Curtis C. Chen Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums Previously published by Future Fire in the Making Monster… Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: two ghosts, a pontianak and a manananggal are sitting around the third floor of a community centre after dark. The trick isn’t getting them to come to the support group, the trick is getting them to agree to …

PodCastle 616: DOUBLE FEATURE! Telomerase; Mycelium Authors : Ian Muneshwar and Eleanor Wood Narrators : Sienna Tristen and Jen R. Albert Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums PodCastle 616: DOUBLE FEATURE! Telo… You lost your first word when I began to lose my hair. You brought a wicker basket to the hospital and opened it in the waiting room, taking out a blue-checkered blanket that you spread out over our laps. via Pocket

PodCastle 617: The Dead-Wagon Author : Greye La Spina Narrator : Wilson Fowlie Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums CW: illness and plague; references to violence and sexual assault Rated R. The Dead-Wagon G… The Dead-Wagon Greye La Spina “Someone’s been chalking up the front door.” The speaker stepped off the terrace into the library through the open French window. From his padded armchair Lord Melverson rose with an involuntary exclamation of startled … PodCastle 617 The Dead-Wagon - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/3cIkbxb

PodCastle 618: Odd and Ugly Author : Vida Cruz Narrator : Don Pizarro Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums Previously published by Writers of the Future vol. 34. Rated PG-13. Odd and Ugly By Vida Cruz I. Y… You come to my tree at high noon in July, sweating, panting, young. So very, very young. I can’t help staring at you: it’s like watching a walking, talking circular window with square glass stuck through it. via Pocket

PodCastle 619: The Tale of Mahliya and Mauhub and the White-Footed Gazelle Author : Sofia Samatar Narrator : C. L. Clark Host : Peter Behravesh Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums Originally published in The Starlit Wood. Rated… This story is at least a thousand years old. Its complete title is “The Tale of Mahliya and Mauhub and the White-Footed Gazelle: It Contains Strange and Marvelous Things.” A single copy, probably produced in Egypt or Syria, survives in Istanbul; the…

PodCastle 629: Though She Be But Little Author : C.S.E. Cooney Narrator : Julia Rios Host : Setsu Uzume Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Discuss on Forums Originally published in Uncanny Magazine. Previously published in Jonathan Strahan’s The… PodCastle 629 Though She Be But Little - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2MmVoCH Though She Be But Little By C.S.E. Cooney Emma Anne had a tin can attached by a string to her belt. via Pocket

CatsCast 289: The Thing in the Basement Author : Gerri C. Leen Narrator : Tina C. Connolly Host : Laura Pearlman Audio Producer : Peter Behravesh Artist : Matt Dovey The Thing in the Basement by Gerri Leen You can hear it, in the basement, b… CatsCast 289 The Thing in the Basement - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/3bDT0Cf You can hear it, in the basement, behind the metal boxes that your human puts her outer-coverings in just when they start to smell good—when the boxes are done, she brings out her things stinking of flowers or fruit. via Pocket