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Nyarlathotep
By H. P. Lovecraft

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read by Morgan Scorpion

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Nyarlathotep . . . the crawling chaos . . . I am the last . . . I will tell the audient void. . . .
I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard.
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Harvest Home
By Linton Robinson

read by Jason Warden

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“You’re going to do it, aren’t you? No matter what I say.” She was leaning against the back of the cave, as far from the door as she could stand.

“Do we really have a choice, Debra?”

The dance of her fingers in the worn out fabric of her dress betrayed the building panic that she kept so sternly from her face and voice. The kids sitting right there. Not taken in for a minute by her pretended calm.

“We don’t really have enough for the children.” He was glad she’d said it right in front of them. They were all in this, all the way. Everybody should know the stakes. In fact, the kids were the stakes, weren’t they? She didn’t say, “enough for us,” did she? More…
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The Collector

by Daniel José Older

read by Daniel José Older

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As the street fighting raged on, Victor threw his defibrillator and medic bag into an unlocked door and ducked in. He did a quick glance-glance to make sure no one was around, brushed himself off and walked a few cautious steps into the room. It looked like some busted sultan’s brothel. Elaborate, weathered curtains hung morosely from the ceilings. The Oriental rug was decorated with cigarette burns and an archipelago of stains. The stench of corner-store incense, perfume and Pall Mall cigarettes colored the air. More…

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A Tale of Sugar of Lost Peaks

by James O. Eternalis

read by Kate Sherrod

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A Tale Of Sugar Of Lost Peaks

The Farmer’s Daughters

The Farm had once been functional, but now all the fields lay long fallow. Farming took hard work and tenacity. Not many in that day and age had the guts to tough it out making a go of farm life. The large, sturdy house still stood, as well the big red barn, stables, silo, and attending outer structures. It was obvious to those with eyes to see that the place had once been very productive.

But now the house’s paint was peeling, the barn was in disrepair, and an old tractor was moldering to rust in the yard. Dying weeds and overgrown grass withered at the coming of the cooler weather, and shuddered and waved in the nippy breeze. A great old maple that shaded the front porch of the house had turned its leaves violent vermilion. It’s rustling branches were dropping its leaves lazily to the ground beneath the brightly hued arboreal. Power poles stood sentinel in a long line next to the dirt road cutting across the broad uncultivated fields, but if someone were to look closely they would find no phone line.
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Darkness Comes

by Lark Neville

read by T.C. Parmelee

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A faint, sickening sweet stench hangs upon the air. The ripeness of the death that had taken place here is still evident. A heavy sorrow fills the room, and I wonder how often Evelyn and Mark have rested on their daughter’s bed and wept since her death.
My heart breaks as I pick up the white jewelry box that bears a painting of an angel on the lid. It vibrates with all the hopes of the girl who filled it with her treasures: the necklace given to Breanna after her confirmation by her mother, the tiny diamond earrings given to her on her sixteenth birthday. Every token seems to resonate with the love that had filled Bree’s life. More…

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Through Walls

by R.J. Astruc

read by Amy Tapia

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For three days the implants burn inside my head like coals, but on the fourth day the burning goes away and I can feel my new eyes sort of settling inside my skull, as if they’ve finally accepted their home. When I tell my Sanako this he holds my hands very tight and kisses the bandages around my head and says, “I can’t wait until you can see me, Lei-Lei.”

His voice is thick with emotion and I know he’s crying, even before I feel the tears on my palms. It’s funny, I’ve never been able to see, but every time I touch my Sanako’s face I imagine I’m seeing it, the fur of his chin and the dimple in his left cheek and the wrinkles in his forehead. More…

The Nature of Evil

by John Rosenman

read by Jason Warden

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“I recognized you, you know.”
Olson looked up from his newspaper and saw a man about his age sitting across from him at the table. “Excuse me?”
The man gave him a knowing smile. “I said, ‘I recognize you.’”
Olson set down the paper. The holiday season had been busy, and he had worked late at the accountants’ office before stopping for a hamburger on the way home. The last thing he needed was some stranger who claimed to know him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t know you.”
A shrug. “I don’t know you either.” More…
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The Cove

by Casey Rea-Hunter

read by Casey Rea-Hunter

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I did not set out to discover anything, least of all what “makes me tick.” At no point in my average-length career in the field of property insurance did I once have the inkling to explore what psychologists and chemically addled reprobates might call “the periphery of consciousness.” I’m certainly well read; retirement spent in the provincial bosom of a coastal New England town affords plenty of time for literary investigation. Yet even my lazy consumption of books borrowed from the local library did not awaken any desire for self-discovery. They were all someone else’s stories, visions, anxieties.
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Trickery Dances

by Lee Pletzers

read by Jason Warden

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The book slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. The covers splayed open, exposing blank pages. But Jimmy had seen the words, and now a slow tidal wave of energy built from within. His stomach tightened, nerves jangled. Pain ripped his gut forcing him to double over. His breathing became harsh; deep breaths caught between clenched teeth filled his lungs.
Jimmy waited for the pain to subside, but the surging energy felt good. It felt powerful.
He felt powerful.
It grew stronger, larger. Energy filled every pore of his body, and strained against his skin, wanting out.
This is what he wished for.
This is what the book had shown him.
Power.
Ultimate power. More…

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A Higher Calling

by Kathy Highcove

read by Jason Warden

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Big John watched the flood waters swirl underneath his attic window. Lawn chairs and trash cans bobbed on the current. He stared back down at his BlackBerry. No messages. What the hell happened? he wondered. Where’s everybody? I ALWAYS have messages, or appointments to remember. Good thing this gadget is still under warranty. But…feel like… I need to get going…somewhere… More…

We Are Free: A Love Story

by Evan Mielke

read by Jason Warden

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It all started here; from the ivy drenched walls of his childhood home, to the jagged asphalt of the road that would lead him so far astray. Sixteen years had lead up to his revelation. It had crystallized in his pores, clogging his rationale. As he stepped out into the mid-morning sun, he blinked, coughed, and without so much as a wince walked onto the shattered concrete… More…

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Sin Earth

by Jeremy C. Shipp

read by Kate Sherrod

Finding a pyramid of sticky bluebursts and a bucket of water before your doorway doesn’t necessarily mean that the villagers of Sin Earth respect you, or even like you. The act may instead imply that no one really wants to see your face outside as they’re living what my mother would call their pathetic little lives, singing and dancing and eating and sometimes carving ancient faces from spirewood that they burn right after, because otherwise the Enforcers would beat the culprits senseless with sacred clubs.

One such club rots away under the table where I set my bluebursts. Enforcer Yor gave me this weapon the day of my mother’s funeral. “She was a good woman,” he told me. “Very reliable.” Then he handed me his club, which he described in almost the same way. More…
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The Gateway

by Brian Johnpeer

read by Denton Hillen

At the Sacramento International Airport David checked in a half hour before his flight’s departure, and ordered a hot chocolate at a Java City hoping that the milk would help calm his nerves. Milk had always calmed his nerves. Every person who strolled by David reeked of sorrow, anxiety, or fear. For a moment he thought it may be his own aroma he had been inhaling, but after lifting his hands to cup his face and drawing in a deep breath, was convinced otherwise. Can one even reek of their feelings? He thought.
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Stage Fright

by Pete Malicki

read by Jason Warden

‘I… I really don’t know. At the time I didn’t know what’d really happened, you know? I think everyone just thought it was supposed to happen like that. Who would have suspected…’
‘We’ll ascertain for ourselves what everyone else was thinking. Why do you think he chose to bring you out?’
‘Why’d he choose me? Hell, I don’t know. Maybe he picked me at random, maybe it was the seat I was in. He could’ve picked who he’d call up by where we were sitting, you know. I was directly behind and a little to the left of the girl. I don’t know if he thought it’d look more realistic if he got people close to one another, or if he just liked the look of her and pulled me out ’cause of where I was.’

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ShadowCast Episode 004

The Old Ones

by Jeremy Clymer

read by Jason Warden

“Name?” the nurse asked. She did not look at me when she asked this, but rather at the clipboard on the desk in front of her.
“Al Mitchell,” I responded, noting to myself her startling similarity to Nurse Ratchet from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
“Guest’s name?” she asked. I found it charming that they referred to them as “guests” here instead of “patients.” It made the place seem less clinical, or at least it would if it weren’t so clinical-looking.
“Paul Hastur,” I told her. Paul, or Professor Hastur as he was known to me, had taught several of my philosophy classes in college. He seemingly taught philosophy for the sole purpose of spewing great amounts of vitriol at any philosopher of historical prominence
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Flash Episode #2

An Absence of Light

By Judith Quaempts

Read by Jason Warden

“Tell me about dances, Joey. If I went would anyone ask me do you think?”

“All the boys will line up, Seashell. The line will go out the door and into

the parking lot.”

She giggles. “Can I wear a white dress Joey, like Cinderella’s?”

“Of course. A white dress sprinkled with silver sequins. Everyone will say you

look like an angel.”

“But will they let me go, Joey? If I’m really good, if I do everything

*they* say (she shudders), do you think they’ll let me?”

“Don’t I always?” The lump in his throat…

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Madness in the Blood

by Catherine Graham

read by Jason Warden

For seven days Jen watched the body count pile up on the news. Five dead on Wednesday, 8 on Thursday, 12 on Friday. The numbers kept going up every day and the numbers went so high that on the seventh day she decided she couldn’t watch the news anymore. She switched it off and went out for a walk, but still she couldn’t escape the escalating numbers of dead people in her city. People were talking about them at the bus stop, in the coffee shops and in the queue for the cash machine. Everyone could see what was happening but no one knew why…except for Jen….
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Angela’s Rising

by Kevin Brown

read by Jason Warden

The stars are wonderful tonight. I want to reach out and trace Orion with my finger, but my arms are pinned down above my head, and this one is taking twice as long as the others.

I measure the time it takes by the number of stars I count. I’m at one hundred and sixty-six, now.

It doesn’t really matter. The result is the same….
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Flash Episode #1

Annabelle

By Wayne Scheer

I like to watch Annabelle from my living room window. I pull back the heavy gold drapes, just a tad, and squint through the slit of morning sunlight so I can’t be seen. I reach for my new camera with the telescopic lens and begin snapping pictures of the beautiful child..

Mother always demanded that the curtains remain closed during the day. She feared the sun would fade the forest green carpet she had installed soon after my birth in 1975, the year Father left. Mother passed six months ago, leaving me her house and the family inheritance. After a bit of unpleasantness, the police ruled her tumble down the stairs an accident…
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Episode #1
Quell The Voices
by Ann Hite

read by Jason Warden

A Puzzle

1995

When Bess Pritchard left her body, it was as if her heart tore open and she took the form of black oily smoke, hugging the ceiling. While she struggled with the reality of the situation, her spirit moved through the maze of outdated newspapers, broken down boxes, and empty two liter diet soda bottles—saved with the crazy notion she might win some contest—she took the form of a deep black crow–

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