Archive for Rated PG-13

AR4 Banner for PodCastle

PodCastle 512, ARTEMIS RISING: Scar Clan

Show Notes

PG-13, for graphic monster gore.

Find this year’s glorious ARTEMIS RISING art by Geneva Benton on her website here. Additional ARTEMIS RISING 4 swag is available on Redbubble and Teepublic.


Host Notes:
Forgetting by Commemoration, or, the Disrespect of Respect,” by China Mieville

They Should Be Afraid of Old Women” by Mary Anne Mohanraj

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 one of those trucks with a boom on it that they use to fix the power lines. (Continue Reading…)

PodCastle 510: My Heart is a Prayer

They make my heart out of stone. A slate-colored hunk of granite run through with thin veins of fool’s gold like silver cracks that the father found in the mountains outside of town. He had been gathering lackweed to chew, so that he could make himself numb, and could fall asleep in the meadows, in nests of dry grass like a bird. The afternoon sun burned his skin, and he felt almost as if the light were passing through him. He felt like a window. Like a single pane of a glass.

He couldn’t sleep at home anymore. The old feather bed was too soft. The mother slept turned away from him, and the curve of her neck, in the blue moonlight, looked to him like a hooked knife. The silence there had a body and a mouth, and he could feel, always, its teeth against his neck. Silence was a vampire.

(Continue Reading…)

PodCastle 508: The Ravens’ Sister

Show Notes

Rated PG-13, for war and all its wounds and sorrow.

The Ravens’ Sister

by Natalia Theodoridou

There are many ways to tell this story.

All of them are true.

(Continue Reading…)

PodCastle 507: The Rocket Farmer

Show Notes

Rated PG-13. Take cover: contains more than 5 F-bombs.


I sit at my kitchen table and watch as my soon-to-be ex-husband, David, assembles cardboard boxes and labels each one in neat block letters. This is David’s third packing weekend and once again our daughter has made herself scarce; Sophie has no problem with late-at-night drunk mom or lonely stoned dad, but watching us sort through the flotsam of our former marriage — it’s too much.

“What’s up with those burn marks on the driveway?” David says. “I can set up the fire pit if you want.”

(Continue Reading…)