Rated PG
In the armoire beside the marital bed sleeps a chronology of her husband’s metamorphosis: scans inventorizing the tiling on the walls of his heart, the stairwells budding in his arteries. For all of the hurt it conjures, Li Jing thinks his metamorphosis beautiful, too.
Rated PG
“The Sweet Life” by Aidan Doyle.
Read by Graeme Dunlop.
First appeared in Every Day Fiction in 2014.
“My Wife is a Bear in the Morning” by David Steffen.
Read by Sean D Sorrentino.
A PodCastle original!
See David’s Long List Anthology Kindle pre-order page. Availability on more sites coming soon!
“About The Bear” by Spencer Ellsworth.
Read by Cheyenne Wright.
A PodCastle original!
“The First Winter” by Renee Carter Hall.
Read by Jennifer Albert.
First appeared in Renee’s book Wishing Season.
“On Not Noticing A Bear” by Amy Sisson.
Read by Wilson Fowlie.
First published in Every Day Fiction in December 2014.
Have a look at the painting which was the story’s inspiration.
Starting in 2016, PodCastle will make some significant changes to the rights we buy from authors, most notably the purchase of electronic rights to post the text of stories to our website. This is to clear up some ambiguity surrounding the eligibility of stories first published in audio for major awards and Year’s Best anthologies. Since we have begun paying pro rates for original stories, we want to make sure our authors receive the same consideration for these honors as those published at text-based zines.
Please see our Submissions Guidelines for more information, including links to full sample contracts.
At long last, we’re very excited to announce that PodCastle is now paying our narrators!
Standard rates for solo readings are $15 for flash fiction (<2000 words), and $30 for short stories (2000-6000 words). Rates vary for two-narrator readings, full cast readings, and longer works, and will be determined on a case-by-case basis, by the editors.
Have you ever wanted to narrate for PodCastle? Please head on over to our Narrator Audition Portal, and give us your best voice. We’d love to hear from you!
Those who have narrated for us in the past need not audition again; you’re already in our narrator database, and we’ll contact you directly when we have another reading we might like you to do.
The rain wept against the glass as Old Foss watched impassively behind the window. The Old Man ran back and forth across the cobbled street, his long white nightshirt soaked and clinging to his ungainly frame, his paunched belly and skinny pale legs. His long bedraggled beard leaked, sloughing off water when he shook his head and bellowed: “Where is my Jumbly Girl?” The Old Man knocked on every door he came to, but no one answered for they knew the old Englishman too well.
At first, when the fugues came on, the locals had only shaken their heads at him, then argued with him in broken English or too fluent Italian, especially when the rain came up fast. They pushed him towards the villa he and Old Foss rented; but when the confusion came upon him he would only look at them uncomprehendingly, or look at their doors long after they had shut them with the oddest expression of thwarted desire, then he would wander away again and knock on another wrong door. For no one could see the Jumblies but him and Old Foss. None could know of his time with his Jumbly Girl but Old Foss and himself. Old Foss and he is how it should be for the Jumbly girl would bring him only death for all her promises. Why couldn’t he see that, Old Foss thought crossly, twitching his tail, and was is really so much as all that to love a Jumbly Girl?
Rated PG
by Anaea Lay
read by Rachael K. Jones
First appeared in Penumbra Magazine in August 2014.
It’s still days and miles away, but I can feel the heat radiating off its coils all the same. I think, maybe, it’ll be okay when I get there.
Rated PG
Rift opened in my backyard. About six feet tall and one foot wide. Appears to open onto a world of endless twilight and impossible beauty. Makes a ringing noise like a thousand tiny bells. Call (206) 555-9780 to identify.
Kayla reads the listing twice, knowing the eager beating of her heart is ridiculous. One page back, someone claims they found a time machine. Someone else has apparently lost their kidneys.
The Internet isn’t real. That’s what she likes about it. And if the post is real, the best thing she can do is pretend she never saw it.
After all, she’s doing better. She sees a therapist, now. She’s had a couple of job interviews.
She calls the number.