The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

managed a tight smile. “But he’s good now. Right, buddy?”
Tom nodded unconvincingly. “Yeah… I’m good.”
When the game resumed a few moments later Tom
was playing so far in, he could have been mistaken for a first
baseman. Even from centerfield, Billy could see the right
fielder trying to hide his shaking throwing hand inside his
glove. I don’t know what Tom saw, Billy thought, but he saw
something.
On Holland’s fourth pitch to Duffy, the batter popped
high to shallow right. It should have been a routine catch —
a real bread basket — even for a mediocre fielder like Tom,
but just as the ball made contact with his glove Tom’s knees
buckled and he bobbled the ball for a few seconds before
dropping it altogether. By the time he recovered the ball,
Duffy had already reached first base. While the rest of Tom’s
teammates cursed into their gloves, Billy shot the right
fielder a reassuring nod, as if to say: Don’t sweat it. We got
this.
Billy took about fifteen steps back as Wildcats center
fielder Donnie Valentine swaggered up to the plate. Like his
teammate Rogers, Valentine lobbed bombs. Donnie’s last
name was actually Swanson, but the other players called him
“Valentine,” due to the small, heart-shaped birthmark on his
right cheek.
Valentine wasted no time and went after the first
pitch. The hit to centerfield echoed through the park.
Billy ran diagonally towards the yonder, tracking the
ball over his right shoulder. Reaching the wood’s edge, he
leapt up with arm extended — the force of the ball slamming
into his glove sent him crashing into a thorny thicket. Somehow,
he managed to hold onto it for the out. As he stumbled
to his feet Billy could hear the crowd erupt into cheers over
the hum of crickets.
Then — another sound. Snapping twigs underfoot.
Heavy. Getting louder. Closer. Billy wasn’t about to find out
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