Superhero Girl

by Jei D. Marcade

Ofelia was a superhero.  She told me so without reserve.  “It’s safe for me to tell you,” she said.  “I can sense you’re not a villain.  Besides, it would be unfair to keep it from you.  It won’t be easy, you know, being involved with a superhero girl.”

It did take some getting used to.  She received her mission briefings in birdsong, in radio static, encoded in every third word backwards from a breaking news bulletin on the televisions in a specific store window.  She saw battle plans drawn out for her in cloud patterns, coffee cup rings, the movement of players on a soccer field.  During these moments she would stand frozen in mid-motion, her head cocked to the side, listening intently.  Then she would drop—literally drop—whatever she was doing and dash away, calling apologies over her shoulder.

The Tinyman and Caroline

by Sarah L. Edwards

The Small Door

by Holly Phillips

Neither knew what the Weirdo did with his captives, but it was hard to think of a possibility that wasn’t horrible. Not when you saw that figure, with its thatched gray hair, lumpy shoulders and white hands as big as baseball gloves, carry some hapless creature into the house with the broken drainpipes and curtained windows. Even cooking and eating seemed too simple, too close to human.

“Sal,” Macey said, “we’ve got to find out.”

“You keep saying that.” Sal picked fuzzies off the bedspread, her mind drifting to the fair’s candy-bright commotion.

“But now I have a plan.”

By Greg Van Eekhout.

Narrated by David Michel.

So there was Orange John near the war fountain in his oversized orange suit and Bozo hair, knotting himself up a real nice stegosaurus, when up came the young balloon man. He was a skinny boy in a black T-shirt, rainbow vest, and jeans painted like all the sample chips in a paint store. His limp balloons hung from his waistband like little tongues, and he stopped a dozen or so yards away from Orange John.

“Jack Many-Colors,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat.

“Orange John,” said Orange John, with a squint and a nod.

And so it began.

Rated PG. For Carnie Language and Balloon Violence

by Tanith Lee.
Read by Rajan Khanna.

Excerpt not included this week. You’ll just have to listen!

Rated PG. for revisionist “history.”

Bonus: If you enjoyed this week’s Tanith Lee story, you might want to go check out Fantasy Magazine’s audio version of “Clockatrice” by Tanith Lee, read by perennial PodCastle favorite M. K. Hobson. Enjoy!

by Marie Brennan.
Read by Paul Tevis.

The suggestion was heretical, and treasonous to boot.  Two years before, the king had established by sacred decree that there was only one world, and that nothing lay beyond its bounds; anything seen there was a delusion, a final torment sent to test the faithful before their eventual salvation.  And for two years, his Councillors and subjects had respected his word.

Now they faced a choice.  Disobey the king — or lose him.  Commit treason, or let him die, and with him, the last remnant of the sacred royal line.

Rated PG. for actions taken at the end of the worlds.

by http://wordswoman.livejournal.com/ Jaye Lawrence.
Read by Phoebe Harris.

We met near a pond, of course.

“I loved your ad,” I said after we’d finished our introductions. Sharon, meet Jerry. Frog, meet human. “But I have to admit I wasn’t expecting an actual amphibian.

Rated PG. for narratives that play with the Grimm.

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