PodCastle 552: The Watchers

Every House, a Home By Evan Dicken “I guess nobody wants haunted houses, anymore.” Derek checked his reflection in one of the Cape Cod’s filmy windows, teasing his hair back to mussy perfection. He glanced back at me. “That was a joke, Natalie.” I gave him my best approximation of a smile. He blew out …

The Blue Widow By J. P. Sullivan It was good tea, all things considered, and I really did admire his efforts at being a good host — but the fact was, I was there to kill him. This was, unfortunately, something of a trend in the profession. He spoke with the confidence of his kind. “You’ve …

The Last Exorcist by Danny Lore Author’s Note: This piece was commissioned and then declined by a prominent magazine. The only information that has been altered/omitted are locations, as those have been deemed a national security risk. Re-post and share at will. Naheem is our last great exorcist. When you point this fact out to …

The Original Science Fiction Podcast

PodCastle 549: Fixer, Worker, Singer

Ellie watches her husband from the front porch. He makes a lean shadow against the twilight, his arms outstretched, his heels lifting from the ground and dropping again. The wind rustles the branches of the trees overhead, their limbs picked clean o…

PodCastle 546: For the Removal of Unwanted Guests

PodCastle 545: The Aunties Return the Ocean

PodCastle 544: Waters of Versailles — Part 3

PodCastle 543: Waters of Versailles — Part 2

PodCastle 542: Waters of Versailles — Part 1

PodCastle 541: Andromache and the Dragon

PodCastle 540: Flash Fiction Extravaganza! The Three Phases of Equinox

PodCastle 539: Godfall

It has come to our attention, through multiple channels, that the current incarnation of Artemis Rising 5 has caused harm to members of our community. Thanks to Bogi Takács’s eloquent explanation of how to bring more voices to the table, we are examining the best way to repair the trust we’ve broken. We appreciate the […]

PodCastle 538: Itself at the Heart of Things

PodCastle 537: To the Moon

PodCastle 536: The Threadbare Magician — Part 2

PodCastle 535: The Threadbare Magician — Part 1

“Hello,” answered some whiteman. “Good morning! Could I speak with—?” He mispronounced her last name and didn’t abbreviate her first, as nobody who knew her would do. “Young lady,” he said. “Can you please tell me whether Miss Jean-Louis is there or…

An old man sat behind the dilapidated counter of the country store humming Negro spirituals as Grace walked in, sweaty from standing in the sun. Her new black dress clung to her like a frightened child and she plucked at its neckline with irritation…

PodCastle 532 Vetala - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2uH6Alh

PodCastle 430 Thundergod in Therapy - PodCastle via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2bfiuqd

We roll into town on a bright sunny morning, steering the Caddy around the half-dozen streets that make up “downtown.” Three of us in the back dozing and the other two up front with our arms hanging out the windows, letting our fingers ride on the f…

Properties of Obligate Pearls By L. S. Johnson You have to know what to look for. Younger, definitely — stones from the elderly are heavy and black, decades of layers dulling the luster. No one wants the weight of a grandmother’s worries around thei…

Scar Clan by Carrow Narby Sage doesn’t ask me to go with her when the call comes in. She doesn’t say anything at all except, “It’s Thunderhead again.” She ducks into coveralls, tosses some shovels into the bucket truck, and speeds away. We call it the “bucket” because of how we use it. It’s not …

We Head for the Horizon and Return with Bloodshot Eyes by Eleanna Castroianni August 14th, 1949 Near Kançikon, Pindhos The heart had already stopped beating — small animal in glistening glory, trapped between rosy lungs. Burgundy liver and sickly gall I passed; bones and marrow hold more secrets. Intoxicated, I shoved my hands into the soldier’s …

My Heart the Bullet in the Chamber by Stephanie Charette They said I wouldn’t feel anything from the waist down but that was a lie from the first contraction. Yet when the good doctor took away the baby — healthy, crying — and offered that blood-christened Spencer Repeater in her place, I cradled its stock …