The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

96
like he had seen a ghost. No, not a ghost, Billy thought.
Something worse.
“I saw one of them, Billy,” Tom said, his voice cracking.
“In the Yonder. It’s watching me.”
It. The term sent a trickle of cold sweat down the
back of Billy’s jersey. Like all of the kids who played ball
in Warrior Park, Billy grew up hearing stories of the “Yonders”
who supposedly lived deep in the woods behind the
outfield. The lore changed over time. Originally, the Yonder
People were said to be a clan of inbred cannibals. According
to Billy’s uncle, who played shortstop for the Warriors in the
early ‘80s, they were actually an animal-sacrificing satanic
cult. In recent years, the legend had evolved into something
more supernatural. “Fenway Park may have their left field
wall nicknamed the Green Monster,” Hillgrove residents
liked to joke, “but we’ve got real monsters living behind our
outfield.”
Not that Billy had really believed any of that stuff.
Unlike many of the other kids his age, he took a secret pride
in being unburdened with the kind of overactive imagination
fueled by video games, comic books, and scary movies, all
of which he viewed as distractions and a waste of time. To
Billy, the stories were just tall tales passed down from player
to player over post-game slices at the local Pizza Hut.
“They’re not real, Tom,” Billy said, not sure he believed
his own words.
Within moments, their teammates had converged
upon Billy and Tom. “Are you trying to lose the game for us,
Belden?” Rebuth said. The second baseman looked as if he
were about to stomp Tom’s face with his cleats.
Pete Holland stepped forward and shoved Tom with his
pitching hand. “Quit daydreaming and get your head in the
game!”
Billy stepped between the two players. “He’s alright.
Just a little case of the nerves, is all.” He turned to Tom and