David McCahan

“His Name Was Iggy” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #255

Iggy didn’t know his name for the first five years of his life. He was called other things, other names, none seemed right, some seemed wrong, some hateful, some scary. The loud ones, the ones accompanied with raised hands. Those scared him the most. Those were the ones that hurt, that brought hurt, brought pain.He learned to retreat, to beg, to pray, surrendering with his front legs raised high, on his haunches as close as he could to being on his knees. A promise. He’d do better. Please let me do better. I promise to change, to do better. ...

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“A Letter to Daniel” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #240

She didn’t recognize it. The language. The handwriting was feminine. Fluid. The penmanship flawless. The words unrecognizable.It was a letter. Of that much she was certain. A two word salutation and a name. Daniel.That was the name. The only thing she was certain of. There was no signature. That part had been torn off. Burned off by the looks of it. Violent. The remaining part of the note, what was left of it, was crumpled, stained. Perhaps by the circumstances. Perhaps something else. Whether by accident or purposefully she c...

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“Three Days on the Katy Trail” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #230

I could barely move. Every muscle in my body seized up, screamed at me to hold still. But lying there hurt just as much. And I only had two days to get home.I have never not wrecked riding a bicycle.My first attempts at riding without training wheels are embarrassingly preserved forever on Super 8 film, converted to tape, converted to digital and now uploaded to the internet by my surprisingly technically adept mother. It’s a series of me falling over on our driveway. She set it to the Benny Hill theme. Thanks for sharing that with the world...

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“Uncle Merb and the Missing Sock” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #230

“Tell that Meshuggeneh Seinfeld he still owes me for the socks bit.”My Uncle Merb told me that every time I went out on a job.Uncle Merb was under the impression that everyone, at least everyone in New York, who worked in some kind of film, television or theater production knew everyone else.I was a member of IATSE Local 1, the stagehands union. I worked as a set dresser. Basically a glorified furniture mover. Without the glory. I came by the job naturally. My father and uncle ran a moving company founded by my great-grandfather in Broo...

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“This Don’t Happen in Apalachicola” by David McCahan

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #227

It was darker than anywhere he’d ever been. Colder too. Colder than darker if that was possible. The dim light from the tent he just left in the camp now distant behind him was the only thing that made it possible to see. But he knew where he was going. He’d gone there dozens of times. He measured out the steps, counted them. The sound of the snow crunching under his boots served as a cadence as he walked.  “Stone? Is that you?” a voice came from somewhere in the void before him.  “Who else would be stupid enough to be out here?” S...

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“Best Christmas Ever” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #226

Warning: Profanity.Who decided to put Thanksgiving and Christmas so close together?Who is responsible for this?I have a running list, mostly in my head, about two different groups of people. People who deserve statues to be built in their honor and people who should burn in hell.The people who deserve statues are the woman who invented chicken wings, the man or woman who invented yoga pants, and my neighbor Mr. George, the single nicest man I ever knew who never said one bad word about anyone ever and who lived to be one hundred faithfully m...

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“Arthur” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #225

Arthur held his father’s hand tightly. His cap fixed to his head, breeches cinched at his waist with a small leather belt. His first tie knotted at his collar, his father showing him how to tie it as he did it for his young son. Arthur was studious, even at the young age of seven. Serious. Determined. He absorbed everything he could and kept records. First in his head. As he aged, in journals. Anything he found interesting or useful. He peered from the bench into the casket, seeing for the first time a dead body. He knew this one before. Bef...

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“Roosters Before Dawn” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #224

Coke sat outside my bedroom window again. Crowing again. Crowing always.Roosters don’t just crow at dawn.That was news to me.I grew up in the suburbs in St. Louis. There were no roosters. I lived in Chicago near Lake Michigan as a young adult. There were no roosters there, either. When I got to Key West, they were everywhere.At first, I thought it was quaint. Charming even. Chickens with their flocks, roosters standing protective over them. Protected by local ordinances. The only predators house cats and raptors. The raptors pretty much...

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“The Uncertainty Principle” by David McCahan

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #223

The white board was filled with equations, graphs and language that the ordinary layperson would have had no clue as to the function or meaning. The students in Professor Howard Tappan’s Quantum Physics seminar largely had no understanding of them either. At least according to Professor Tappan. He’d been at Cornell for the better part of two decades. Published widely, an expert in his field, respected for his studies in the field, Professor Tappan was generally detested by anyone who knew him on a personal level. His demanding standards le...

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“You Ain't Never Lied” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #222

Hayward Stockton was born in 1947 on a bus ride south of San Francisco when he was 23 years old. Prior to that moment, Lingyun Zhou had occupied his place in time. Zhou had just returned from another fruitless trip along the California coast searching for any employment in his chosen field of agricultural management, an area of study that had landed him a full scholarship at Stanford University where he graduated Magna Cum Laude. Even with such outstanding credentials, and service in the 3rd Armored Division during World War 2, he ...

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“Spooky” by David McCahan

Things came easily for me as a child. Math was simple. Reading was, too. I knew how to read before any of my classmates. Even in Kindergarten I was knocking through Sally Dick and Jane while the rest of the class was struggling to sound out the words. My closest friend then was Billy Connors. Billy was a good kid who just lived down the street. We played football in each other’s yards, climbed trees, rode bikes everywhere in a time where you just told your parents you were going to go play on a Saturday morning and all they said was to be ho...

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“Walter” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #220

It was his favorite part, twisting the knob, the small rush of air bordering on a whistle as the gas began to escape. Then the anticipation of the flame. The scrape of the matchstick against the box, and the fire crackling to life, a whoosh when the stovetop burner caught. It reminded him of the beginning of Mission: Impossible. Except this was better because it was real. And he knew what was coming. “When do I get to light it?” Walter asked, settling into the kitchen stool. “When you’re a little bit bigger,” his grandmother Midge ...

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“Employee 3346-88739” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #219

Breakfast was the usual. Scrambled eggs, a couple of withered sausage links and a stale piece of toast, closer to burnt than not. It was better that way. Sometimes it came underdone. Then you could taste just how bad the bread really was. Charring gave it some flavor.His name was Norman Gaston, but according to the certificate framed on the wall, he was employee number 3346-88739. An accompanying photo of Norman was taken on the count of two. Norman was expecting it to be on three. He asked for another shot. There were no do-overs.Norman sli...

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