Mike Garrigan

“On/Off” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #149

On the last day of third grade, the street light over the bus stop flickered. Even if I could have climbed up two stories to tap it, that old wooden light pole would have riddled my hands and thighs with splinters. A pack of Sweet Tarts later, the light turned on in full force, but I could have counted to ten before it turned off. Then, it resumed flickering with a buzz and a crackle, a sizzle and hum. The morning air began to smell like it does after it rains, but more electric, tasting like when you put your mouth on an iron bar on the pla...

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“Primary Season” by Mike Garrigan

Trigger Warning: Substance Abuse, Foul Language, Violence, Politics.A knock at the door interrupts my hangover. I sip my coffee and ignore it. My flimsy apartment door seems miles away from my couch. Can a girl just sit and scroll for a few hours? C'mon, asking for a friend. The paper-thin walls do nothing to attenuate the knock.I flick through the news. Inflation Woes: Biden to Blame. No.Primary Season: When It's Too Close to Call. Nah.Lock Your Door: Home Invasions on the Rise.  As if.Knock again. The hope of hallucinat...

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“The Engagement Party” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #138

Frances placed the last dish in the dishwasher.“Thank you, Frances,” Gram Sarah, her grandmother, said. “My arthritis does a number on my hands at night.” Gram Sarah caressed her swollen knuckles and winced. “It’s a wonderful ring. You and David will be very happy. I just know.”Frances beamed but then stopped. She took a closer look at Gram Sarah’s hands. She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Gram Sarah, how did you get that scar on your knuckle?”Fifty years before Frances and David’s engagement party and before Gram Sarah ...

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“Circuit Bender” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #115

Truman Moore hit the rewind button on his father’s double cassette deck. The tape reels spun quickly, like two tiny washing machines whirling in tandem spin cycles. After a few moments, the tape’s end triggered the deluxe deck’s auto stop function and the cogs clicked. Truman hit eject, popped the warm, unlabeled tape in its plastic j-card box, and placed it in a larger cardboard carton among other newly duped cassettes. He took the box, labeled Jefferson High School AV Club, downstairs to the basement and placed it with the other parcels.&n...

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“I Am the Resurrection” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #114

Tristan Frost blew the dust off of a stack of gold coins. His miniature tower of wealth was more money than anyone else had in Atlantis. He stood behind the counter at the trading post and awaited his next customer. Atlantis, a forgotten town on the road to nowhere, was nestled deep inside the New Mexico Territory. At its height, Atlantis was a pit stop on the southern route to California. But now, after the gold rush, Atlantis saw more tumbleweeds than passers through.“Mr. Frost?” Jacob Smith said with sunken eyes and a dry mouth.Frost...

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“Onaji Yume” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #113

Herbert Lowe perused iPhones at the 5th Avenue Apple Store. While Lowe walked between the display tables, Detective Skinner spotted him from outside. Lowe froze—his stomach fell to the ground.Lowe snuck out of the side entrance of the store and headed southward. Skinner followed. Lowe turned right on 47th Street, just before Saint Thomas Church. He wanted to run, but Skinner had his oversized German Shepherd, Banjo, with him. Banjo was notorious for biting fleeing perps in the crotch. Last week, Lowe stole a satchel of diamonds from a b...

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“The Feather of Supay” by Mike Garrigan

As Morris Pauley approached the end of a long and winding footpath, he smelled coffee. The jungle trail ran from Las Cuevas to the foot of the Aconcagua. There, at the end, a Coleman kerosene lamp lit the inside of a lean-to tarp shelter. The hulking silhouette of Ivan Lange made a long slurp on fresh joe.  “Ah, Morris! You made it,” Ivan said in a resonant voice that pierced through the din of cicadas.  “Yeah, I had to leave my Karmann Ghia back in Santiago but—” “But you made it, comrade. How long have you been out?” “Three month...

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“In the Day of the Lord” by Mike Garrigan

Josephine Dennis poured the contents of an Erlenmeyer flask on the ground by an old tree. The Jacobs Poplar had been the center of campus for centuries. She watched the thick fluid seep deep down into the roots.She placed her hand on the tree’s wide trunk and smiled. The hurricane in her heart began to slow. A swarm of expectant students buzzed across the quad, stomping this way and that. She stood motionless.No one believed me, she thought. No one ever believed me. Twenty years ago, right here, in front of the Jacobs Poplar, Josep...

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“Scars Don't Lie” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #110

Until a few days ago, Travis Carter didn’t have any scars. A greasy spoon changed all that. As he entered Sarah’s Diner, the smell of bacon, eggs, and Tabasco sauce hit him hard in the face. A tiny copper bell pealed, but something seemed off about it. Travis turned and looked up at the door frame.“It’s a recording,” Sarah said from the hosting podium.“Huh?” Travis said.“The bell. It’s fake.” Sarah pointed up at the entry way, her arm fat jiggling.“Oh.”“Just you, Hun?”“No, a table for two please.”“You’ll have to wait for your entire par...

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“Zhizhu” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #109

Sister Qian Guang pulled quackgrass from her pea garden. She built wooden trellises to support her pole peas, but only manual labor could stave off the weeds. As she yanked the last stubborn tuft of quackgrass from the soil, she felt a cramp in her lower back. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her alb.A thousand years ago, just before the Great Flood, Qian’s ancestors referred one’s main gig as a “day job.” But here, in the year 3021, nestled in the lowlands of New Shaolin Empire, agrarian subjects of the new Empress Yi La...

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“Leave” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #108

As Detective Frank Meyers arrived at 59 Mulberry Street, he watched the mid-1950s ranch home go up in flames. There, in his mind, sheets of fire billowed out from the newly installed ridge vents along the roof line. Flames like dragon’s breath shot out of the gable vents on each end of the house. The fire light painted the gray brick house “all Halloween orange and chimney red,” just as Tom Waits rasped in “Frank’s Wild Years.” Detective Meyers could see the blaze, as it burned the night before, because he investigated arson for a ...

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“Foile de Barbe” by Mike Garrigan

Emily Post, the oracle of etiquette, based her good-manners advice on three tenets: respect, consideration, and honesty. “Put these three principles together,” she wrote, “and act on them in your daily life and you will be the soul of graciousness and have excellent relationships as a result.”  Mrs. Post’s insights kind of make sense if you’re planning a wedding or trying to figure out when to send flowers after a friend’s mom dies. But, really, you can summarize everything you need to know about etiquette with one rule: Don’t Stir Shit...

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“Lights Out” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #106

Detective Dana Ciccone and her partner, Tony Davis, didn’t find the silences that accompanied their morning drives to be uncomfortable. Dana drove. Tony looked out the window. They both enjoyed the temporary quiet. Twenty years of daily traffic jams from an obstreperous police precinct to an even more insistent crime scene had frazzled them both. But when they did speak, Dana was usually the one to start the conversation. In addition to being a damn good detective, Dana also seemed to be obsessed with random shit.“Do you believe in...

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“Exhibits” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #105

Friday, August 5, 2021, 12:22 pm. Evidence. Exhibit A. Eyewitness #1.Format: Audio Recording.My name is Tommy “The Hammer” McGee. You might have heard of me. I won the Golden Gloves in 2001 and 2002. I still box a little, but nowadays, I’m an interpreter. I can speak like nine languages. Ma said that getting hit in the head over and over would turn me into a moron, but maybe it whacked something into place—Tafahma?So, the reason I was at the bank this morning was to deposit my paycheck. I had a med-interp gig down at Baptist. ...

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“Red” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #104

I wanted to tell Kaitlyn to keep it down, but she just kept running her mouth. Dave’s Diner marked the last stop for a hundred miles before we reached the Cadillac Farm in Amarillo, Texas. Older couples and day laborers filled the surrounding booths, but they were keeping their conversations to themselves. Kaitlyn, on the other hand, exploded with laughter at the slightest suggestion of anything remotely funny.“Why did the vegan cross the road?” Kaitlyn said.“I . . . I dunno,” I said.“To tell everyone on the other si...

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