Nightmare Magazine - Horror and Dark Fantasy Story Podcast (Audiobook | Short Stories)
I watch the closet door. I watch around them as they pray above me, their eyes closed and their hands clasped in ecstasy. Their voices drown out all other sounds---like, for instance, the creak of a slowly opening door. So I can’t close my eyes, though my head is aching. I have to watch the door. Their prayers rise and fall and bleed into one other, a nonsense incantation of sacred gibberish. They’re crying and sweating. There is no air conditioning in the old farmhouse, and the humid bedroom is fragrant with their body odors. | Copyright 2021 by Desirina Boskovich. Narrated by Justine Eyre.
TOD 018 Desirina Boskovich: Walking Reality’s Festering Fault Lines … with a Dog
The Outer Dark
In this podcast Scott Nicolay interviews Desirina Boskovich, author of Never Now Always. Also a mini-roundtable preview of the HP Lovecraft Film Festival & CthulhuCon (Oct. 6-8, Portland, OR) featuring Philip Gelatt (They Remain World Premiere), Gwen and Brian Callahan, and Justin Steele, plus reviews by Gabino Iglesias (LitReactor, Zero Saints) of They Remain and Desirina’s Never Now … Continue reading
This week, we're joined by author Desirina Boskovich to discuss her new novella, "Never Now Always" from Broken Eye Books. Music: Eyes Gone Wrong Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Show Notes: Pick up a copy of Never Now Always from Broken Eye Books or Amazon Find Desirina on her website or Twitter.
Far Fetched Fabled No. 88 Desirina Boskovich and Melody Marie Sage
Far Fetched Fables
Flash Fiction: “The Alchemist’s Wife” by Melody Marie Sage (Originally published at Daily Science Fiction on July 17, 2015.) I remember we celebrated with the dark chocolate torte at L’oiseau D’or. Its glossy black ganache was splashed with a comet trail of 24 carat gold stars. The gilt leaf dissolved tasteless on my tongue. The idea of it was titillation enough. Ian talked about the project, and I pretended to listen to him, enjoying the sound of his voice, the exuberant parabolas he made with his hands. I was an artist. Chemistry, nanotechnology, bionics, and their various intersects, did not interest me. Colors did: the yellow candle flame flickering on his irises, the flush at the base of his throat, the creamy ivory tablecloth beneath my fingers. I smiled into my champagne. No, that is not entirely true. I loved learning about... See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.