20 of 34

Write now Article Tools

Pitfalls and Trapdoors
Seventeen inches. The extra two inches made it easy to slip over the head.
And it did, nice and easy.
It was a hotter day than yesterday, and the horses kicked the sand, whinnied loudly, and I was miserable in my jacket. But the crowd weren't listenin'. They stared straight through me, focused on the sheriff and mayor.

"Glad ya'll could make it out here today." Someone whistled up near me. "As you know, we finally caught up with Mr. Callahan. And today, he's gettin' what's comin' to him. Is there anyone out there who objects to the hangin'?"
"Get on with it, Wilbur." Mr. Williams isn't known for his patience.
"Alright, alright. Father Pritchard, will you read the last rites?"
"Boo, get on with it, Wilbur!"
"Mr. Williams, I think we're all as ready as you, but he's still a child of God."
Mr. Williams grumbled something under his breath as the last rites were read. I couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Right, well, Mr. Callahan, we hope you understand why we got to do this."
"No, I don't. And I told you, it ain't me you're lookin' for. I ain't Callahan."
"Well, then who is?"
Mr. Williams shouted, "Hang the bastard."
"Wilbur, I don't know, but he ain't me." I started to sweat, looking through the crowd.
"If you ain't Callahan, and you can't tell me who Callahan is, I'm inclined to say you are Callahan and can't think of how to get out of this mess."
"I ain't lyin,' Wilbur!"
"We'll let God be the judge of that."
Wilbur waved his hand and the sheriff pulled the lever. Something clicked, and Mr. Callahan dropped two feet through the scaffolding. His feet kicked quickly, trying to find the ground and his screams escaped as spits and gurgles.
One more minute and he stopped, his face twisted in different directions. His eyes stared expectantly at the sky, as if he were looking directly at God.
It was gettin' late, and I think I overstayed my welcome here. I took one last look at Jimmy before I left. A good kid. Not very fast, but good. It could have been me blowing in the breeze.
But, Wild Bill Callahan never swings.

Learn more about this author, Jourdan Simmang.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Short stories: Murder in the city?
We want to hear your view. Write now!