Home
Editor's Page
YM Artists' Page
"Skeeter", the Official YM Mascot
YM Guidelines
Contact Us & Links to Other Sites
Factoids
The Wasp and the Fig: Fiction by Lauren Scharhag
It's Out There: Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
After the Fire: Fiction by Mark Jabaut
"NOYB": Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
La Vengeance De Leo: Fiction by Saira Viola
Bragging Rights: Fiction by James Kompany
Laundry Day: Fiction by Hillary Lyon
The Black Rider's Gold: Fiction by Brian Barnett
Mother's Day: Fiction by Kurt Hohmann
Sins of the Father: Fiction by Paul Lubaczewski
Rebound: Fiction by Phil Temples
Dead Man's Land: Fiction by Scott Cumming
The Girl from the Sweater Factory: Fiction by Robb T. White
Nightspeak: Fiction by Michael Steven
The Final Chapter: Flash Fiction by James Blakey
And the Teapot-Cat Wept: Flash Fiction by Deidre J Owen
What I Love About You: Flash Fiction by Elizabeth Zelvin
Everything Is the Same: Flash Fiction by Bernice Holtzman
William: Flash Fiction by Ron Capshaw
Forgiveness: Flash Fiction by Karen Schauber
Doctors Make Good Killers: Poem by John C. Mannone
The Monster in the Mirror: Poem by Bernice Holtzman
The Folly of the Filly: Poem by Becky Parker
My Most Favorite Things: Poem by Di Schmitt
Take a Look: Poem by Gregory E. Lucas
skin and bones: Poem by Meg Baird
The Past Is Over: Poem by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Fly Collector: Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
Pickles Butte: Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
Birdly: Poem by Juan Mobili
El Rio de la Plata: Poem by Juan Mobili
blind heredity: Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
moonlit wind through the forest: Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
By Reason of Insanity: Poem by R. A. Allen
Cabin Fever: Poem by R. A. Allen
The Death and the Paint: Poem by John Tustin
The Sky Is FIlled with Wine: Poem by John Tustin
The Tide: Poem by John Grey
Followed: Poem by John Grey
He Knows: Poem by John Grey
Scaling the Wall: Poem by John Grey
On the Commuter Train: Poem by John Grey
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
ALAT
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

Ron Capshaw: William

ym_94_william_mddavis.jpg
Art by Michael D. Davis 2022

William

 

by Ron Capshaw

 

 

You had to like him.   Even when you knew what a huckster he was. There was something endearing about someone who was up front about being in it strictly for the money.

William provided the one amusing moment in the horror that was D-Day. While we were waiting to get off the landing boat at Omaha Beach to try our luck against Nazi machine gun nests, he was still selling rabbits’ feet and “good luck” coins.

His “customers” died clutching them.

I miraculously made it to the beach and through the frozen hell of the Battle of the Bulge and into Berlin without a scratch.

William was not so lucky. A Nazi sniper shot off his hand just as he hit Omaha Beach. He was looking for it in the surf when that buck sergeant grabbed him by his backpack and drug William to what passed for cover on the beach.

Just as the medic came over, the buck sergeant’s head exploded.

But the medic had seen it all and without missing a beat, bullets pinging off his helmet, was able to save William’s life, even with the blood jetting out of the stump where his hand used to be.

“Are you ready?” William said, zipping up the Bigfoot suit with the hand that stayed attached to his body. He then covered the brass zippers with fur so the camera wouldn’t pick it up.

 “Hurry up, will ya? This thing is hotter than hell,” I said.

 

 

“Just think about how rich we will be when we sell this to NBC,” he said, picking up the handheld camera he brought to lend the “sighting” some authenticity. The idea was that he would make the camera lens go all over the place because he was chasing the “creature” across the rough terrain of the California mountains.

“Remember to swing your arms like a gorilla. Then look over your shoulder at me, and then race into the woods.”

He grinned and said, “Action.”

I was good. We got it in one take.

By then, the sun was starting to go down.

 We made camp. 

Nighttime.

Of course, we swapped war stories. Of course, we got shit-faced.

We toasted the Bigfoot suit that lay neatly folded by the tent.

Williams was out of shape in the drinking department. He passed out first.

I polished off my glass of apricot brandy and did likewise.

As usual, I dreamed about the war.

When the landing craft door opened, I dove over the side of the boat just as my comrades in front of me exploded in cloth and blood and brain matter.

Unlike the others who floated underwater past me, I was able to get my 20-pound backpack off and not drown.

I swam/crawled to the beach, Nazi bullets miraculously not hitting me.

Right when I found some cover—courtesy of-two corpses I stacked up in front of me—-I smelled a rank, sweaty smell.

That’s not how corpses smell.

I came awake, looking into the lifeless eyes of William. He died with the same expression on his face as I saw on those who had their life shot out of them on that horrid day in 1944. Confusion more than horror.

The rest of his body was several feet away.

Pieces of the Bigfoot costume were flying into the air.

 It stopped, and turned to me.

We had invaded its feeding grounds and now we were its food.

Or maybe it was mad because we pretended to be it.

 

 

Ron Capshaw is a writer based in Florida.  His debut horror novel, The Stage Mother's Club, came out in June from Dark Edge Press.



If Charles Addams, Edgar Allan Poe, and Willy Wonka sired a bastard child it would be the fat asthmatic by the name of Michael D. Davis. He has been called warped by dear friends and a freak by passing strangers. Michael started drawing cartoons when he was ten, and his skill has improved with his humor, which isn’t saying much. He is for the most part self-taught, only ever crediting the help of one great high school art teacher. His art has been shown at his local library for multiple years only during October due to its macabre nature. If you want to see more of Michael’s strange, odd, weird, cartoons you can follow him on Instagram at mad_hatters_mania.

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2022