Show Notes
Before there were screens, there was a fire, a voice, and a story. Narrator and author, Don McDonald invites listeners back to humanity’s oldest tradition—listening. New Tales Told features original fiction inspired by the timeless tales that made us human—stories written for adults, but you won’t need to cover the kids’ ears. Gather by the fire—or more likely, on your walk or in your car—and rediscover the power of a story well told. You never outgrow good stories.
New Tales Told is part of the "Short Storyverses" podcast network. If you love stories, check out our other shows: Season's Readings for holiday tales, Litreading for classic fiction, Readastorus for stories the whole family can enjoy, and FRIGHTLY! for when you want to lose a little sleep. Find them all at shortstoryverses.com.
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More from New Tales Told – Original Short Stories
He has four words. He's had them for forty-two years. He's said them in the car, he's said them in the shower with the water running, and he still can't get the stress to fall where it belongs.
Dr. Nathan Cole measures water for a living. It's quiet work, gauges and spreadsheets, the slow arithmetic of things that don't change much. Then a reservoir gains four inches overnight with no rain, no inflow, no explanation, and gives them back by morning. Everyone blames the sensor. The sensor is fine. What follows is the worst thing a careful man can discover, which is that he's been measuring the right thing all along.
There is a job nobody warns you about. After the dying comes the paperwork, the hold music, the strangers in call centers who need proof that she is gone.
Winter, 1906. A clerk who speaks to no one from Saturday to Monday buys a mahogany graphophone for far less than it’s worth. The widow selling it keeps her eyes on the snow. Her husband, she says, liked to keep his own voice.
Nobody in New Orleans had ever made Bernard de Marigny look foolish in public. He was rich past counting, small as a foil, and very likely the most dangerous man in Louisiana with a pistol in his hand. Then a blacksmith from a far parish, seven feet of him and slow to speak, said something true on the floor of the legislature, and the whole chamber laughed.