PodCastle 386: Flash Fiction Extravaganza! Ghostly Interludes - a podcast by Escape Artists, Inc

* Authors : Renee Carter Hall, Julie C. Day and John Wiswell 

* Narrators : Nathaniel Lee, Folly Blaine and Dave Thompson

* Host : Graeme Dunlop

* Audio Producer : Peter Wood

*

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Flash Fiction Extravaganza! Ghostly Interludes

“The Spirit of Pinetop Inn” by Renee Carter Hall.

Read by Folly Blaine.

First appeared in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine (#58).

The first ghost showed up right on time, striding into the Pinetop Inn’s front parlor so regally that the proprietors, Emma and Tom, expected a flourish of trumpets to accompany his entrance.

The ghost bowed to Tom and kissed Emma’s hand. “Sir Edward Blackthorn the Fourth, at your service, my lord, my lady.” He straightened and handed Tom a thick leather-bound book. “My references, dating all the way back to 1784. I trust you will find everything in order.”

Tom squinted at the faded calligraphy. “Impressive.”



“Wet” by John Wiswell.

Read by Nathaniel Lee.

First published in the first issue of Urban Fantasy Magazine.

It was on Day Six that I sat in a puddle from a leaking drainage pipe, and something about it got the kid to finally roll over, peeking out from under her shiny yellow hood and recognizing that there was another person there who wasn’t afraid of a raincoat. I was the picture of chill. After all, my raincoat protected me from the puddle.

She didn’t resume breathing correctly, because she didn’t actually have lungs anymore, but she did stop thinking she was hyperventilating. Then I offered her the candybars, which she didn’t take, but she did appreciate. She took my tablet instead, haunting my browser and looking up the latest One Direction videos. I deleted my cache later.



“The Faces Between Us” by Julie C. Day.

Read by Dave Thompson.

First published in Interzone #254.

Drive long enough and you can find anything. Copper-eyed goddesses. Gilded August afternoons. That arid stretch of Oregonian high desert in the southeastern corner of the state. Keep driving and you might catch something even more precious—a path through. Perhaps even a fairy-tale ending. That’s what Amber promised me during that long ago summer.

Didn’t matter. Back then the girl could have said almost anything and I wouldn’t have listened.



Rated R

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