A Different Ball Game

"Ches!"

Chester opened his eyes to a strange sight. The street where he grew up lay dark and deserted before him. Not so much as a breeze stirred the branches that dangled overhead. The houses seemed every bit as big as they had to his young eyes at the age of twelve.

The voice came again, wafting to his ears through the still night air. "Ches! Where are you?"

"David?" Chester asked. The sound of his own voice surprised him. It was not the voice of the broken forty-year-old he'd become, but a high and unencumbered one not yet besieged by puberty.

"Come play, Ches!" the voice called. "I'm waiting!"

"I'm coming!" Chester answered as he set off down the lonely sidewalk. The journey was one he'd made many times. He was certain he would find his way blindfolded.

"Hurry," came the voice once again. "I'm waiting." Something about the tone now seemed urgent, almost fearful. It send a chill up Chester's spine. The chill intensified as the voice came again. "I'm cold."

Chester didn't answer with words, but quickened his step. He rounded the corner and broke into a jog. One block later, there he was. Spruce Park lay before him, its gates wide open. The path beyond led deep into the darkness, past bushes and trees, benches and trash cans. Chester couldn't help but be unnerved. These things which seemed so harmless by day now took twisted forms and cast gnarled shadows in the dead of night. A strong wave of relief washed over him when, at last, he came to the baseball diamond.

The relief was short-lived, however. It seemed to Chester that he was the only living soul for miles around. Where was David?

"David!" he called. "David, where are you? I'm here."

"Chester!" croaked a voice behind him. It was much closer than anyone should have been able to come without him noticing. Instinct turned Chester around. He instantly wished he hadn't. There stood David, or what was left of him. His flattened chest was exposed beneath a torn shirt. One eye appeared to have been battered shut while the other was only half open. Blood oozed from a mouth which hung open, revealing the absence of several teeth. One of David's arms was missing entirely, seeming to have been wrenched off just below the shoulder. Without moving his lips or jaw, the mangled boy managed to speak once again. "I'm cold!"

***

Chester awoke with a start. The jolt of terror propelled him upwards. Seeing that he was safe, alone in his bedroom, he buried his face in his hands and pressed on his eyes as to squeeze te memory of his night terrors out of them. "What the fuck?" he said with a groan.

It was the third time in a week he'd had such a dream. Each occurrence was a little bit different, but the same basic scenario applied each time. He was twelve years old, in the park at night, and ambushed by David. Terrifying as the dreams themselves were, the fact that they seemed to be coming from nowhere made them all the more disturbing. Why was he dreaming of David all of a sudden? The boy had died when they were twelve. Chester, now forty, had put both the event and his friend out of his mind for the last twenty-eight years.

Instinctively, he reached for the little orange pharmacy bottle that sat on his nightstand only to find it empty. This had been part of his morning routine for the last several weeks. Whatever, he said to himself as he hurled the bottle across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a plastic thud. ''What do I even need them for? My heart feels fine!''

The truth was several areas of Chester's life had gone completely to seed since his divorce. This included concerns for his overall health. Somewhere within him, his will to stave off death should it come calling had considerably weakened. He had never felt particularly connected or present during his marriage---this was, in fact, Coleen's reason for leaving him---but now, without so much as another living body to navigate around, Chester felt starkly and utterly alone. The addition of a reoccurring nightmare was just shit icing on a misery-flavored cake.

In an effort to redirect his thoughts, he reached for his phone. He was somewhat surprised to see that he had one unheard voicemail, left for him at about three o’clock that morning. Checking his missed calls, he saw Coleen’s name at the top of the list. The timestamps matched.

Chester’s heart fluttered. A mix of excitement and worry filled his brain. Maybe she’s taking me back, he dared to think. Somewhere inside, he knew this wasn’t true, but just the possibility was enough to make him listen.

The voicemail began. “Hi, Chester. It’s Coleen. You’re probably passed out by now. Look, I’ve asked you before, and I’m not going to ask you again. If you’re going to get drunk off your ass, fine. It’s your liver. But please don’t text me when you’re in that state. It’s beneath both of us.” The voice paused and let out an exasperated sigh. “Anyway, I hope you’re doing okay. I hope you’re doing better than it sounds. Bye.”

Chester was alarmed. He remembered drinking the night before, but the texts were news to him. He clicked through his phone to his “sent messages” folder, and there they were. Sloppy declarations of love. Beggings, briberies, threats. The embarrassment burned in his cheeks. This was a problem. He had always been prone to drink, but if he was blacking out now, then things had truly reached a new low. The nightmares were taking their toll.

As he climbed out of bed, he knew he had to do something. He would have to tell someone about the visions that haunted him. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it needed to be done, and he knew exactly the right person for the job.

***

Chester sat nestled in the uncomfortable restaurant booth, hands clutching the gin and tonic before him. He didn't look up when the little bell above the door rang and clicking of heels made its way toward his table. Only when she came around to face him did he raise his eyes to meet hers.

"Hi," Coleen said. Her voice was much softer than it had been in her voicemail. Chester watched as she scanned him with her eyes. Part of him enjoyed the look of concern on her face. "My God," she said. "You look awful."

Chester chuckled slightly. "Thanks," he said. "It's nice to see you, too."

"I didn't mean...," she began as she slid into the seat across from him. She soon gave up, however, and concluded with, "You know what I mean. Are you okay?"

"Not really," he said, and took another sip of his gin.

Coleen observed this and sighed. "Isn't it a little early?"

Chester bristled. "I didn't ask you to come here to monitor my consumption habits."

"No," she said. "But you haven't told me why you did ask me to come here."

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Great," she chirped. "Well, make it quick. I've got an hour for lunch."

Chester straightened his back, let his gaze linger over her face, and sighed. "Look, I don't want to burden you with this, but you're the closest thing I have to a friend and I really don't know what to do."

She seemed to soften at this. "What's going on?" she asked.

Chester took a deep breath. "There's something I've never told you about... from my past."

Coleen smiled warmly. "Chester," she said with sweetness. "There's no need to worry about that now...."

"No," he said, stopping her. "You don't understand. It's something that happened... when I was twelve."

Coleen was quiet, giving Chester the floor to tell his story.

"When I was growing up, I had a friend named David. We met on the ball field near where I lived at the time and, from our first game of catch, we were pretty much inseparable.  We went everywhere together, did everything....  He was probably my best friend."

He took another deep breath and cast his eyes down toward his drink. "I always felt like David was... different, I guess. But I never really knew how.  I mean, we were kids, right?  You don't know anything when you're a kid.  But David... he wasn't like any of my other friends.  And then, one day, I... I think I found out why.

"It was one day when we were tossing balls at each other, seeing if we could hit different pitches, how far we could hit them. That kind of thing.  And David throws me a ball, and I hit it perfectly.  Like, I literally knocked it out of the park.  Best I'd ever done.  David was so excited he ran up to me and just sort of threw his arms around me.  And, you know, whatever.  We had hugged before.

"But then, he... he kissed me. Right here." He brushed his hand against his cheek. "I freaked out. I didn't know what to do.  So I pushed him off of me.  I can't remember what I said to him, but I know it wasn't nice.  I called him a few names I shouldn't have.”  Shame began to get the better of Chester, and for a moment, he paused.  He inhaled sharply, and pressed on.  “And you know what he did?” Chester asked.  “He started crying.  And I'll never forget what he said to me.  He said, 'I love you, Ches.'

"Well, that freaked me out even more. I told him to get the hell out of my sight or I'd beat his ass in.  I mean, I was twelve.  I was a kid.  I didn't know what to do.  I didn't know what would happen."

Chester's eyes began to fill with tears. "David ran, and he kept running. I watched him go out of the park, into the street....  I don't think he even saw the truck coming, until... until...." He buried his head in his arms and began to sob.

"Oh, my God," Coleen whispered, instinctively stroking the hairs on the back of his head. "I'm so sorry, Chester."

Chester pulled himself up to face her once more. "That's not the only thing, Col," he said. "I've been having dreams. Nightmares."

"Nightmares?" she repeated, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah," he said. Coleen listened intently as Chester recollected the nightmare for her, from the voice, to the park, to David's horrifying appearance. When he'd finished, Coleen said nothing. Chester looked on as she visibly shivered.

“That sounds horrific,” she said.

“It is,” Chester replied, the tiniest drop of sarcasm in his voice. “I don’t know what to do, Col,” he continued. “They keep getting worse.”

Coleen fell silent once more. Her eyes took on a familiar distance. Chester had seen this many times before. She was in problem-solving mode. When at last she returned to him, she appeared to tread lightly. “Well,” she began, “I have an idea, but I really don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“What?” Chester asked. “I’m down for anything.”

Coleen offered a half smile and gently placed her hand on his.

***

Chester's car crept through the streets of his old neighborhood. The oppressive heat of the summer night rendered his air conditioner useless, but the same old shivers tingled up his spine as he turned the corner and headed down the street where he'd lived as a boy. Another minute and there it was. Spruce Park loomed before him, looking every bit as dark and impenetrable as it had in his dreams.

Why? he demanded of himself. Why did I let her convince me to do this? Everything within begged him to turn back, to call off this whole experiment and just look down the neck of a gin bottle for an easier solution to his nightmares and the distress they caused. He tried to tell himself that it was the fear of being bitched out and called a coward by Coleen that spurred him on, but the truth was that the urge came from somewhere beyond himself. Chester did not feel a push from within, but a pull from without. Something seemed to be luring him into the darkness.

He powered off the engine and, with it, his headlights, making his world a little darker and a lot more silent. The quiet of this windless night sat heavily upon his chest. It took two or three deep, conscious breaths to inflate his lungs to a comfortable level. Feeling somewhat renewed by the fresh oxygen that now entered his bloodstream, Chester opened the door and stepped outside into the wet summer air.

Beyond the park gate, very little could be seen. Shapes and shadows wound themselves together in a wild and threatening dance. Chester's heart began to pound. Each of his senses sharpened. The true vulnerability of his position was beginning to set in. Feeling his knees begin to quiver beneath him, he decided it was now or never, and forced his own body to carry him into the park.

Past the gate, the path was the same as it had always been. Chester noted that, even if everything looked smaller and different to him now than it had when he was twelve, a sense of familiarity could still be felt. An unfamiliar emotion crept in, one he hadn't expected. To Chester, it most closely resembled sadness, as if the path itself were weeping and chiding him for having been gone so long.

At last, the trees and bushes gave way to the ball field. At such a late hour, its emptiness was profound. Without thinking, Chester stepped out into the middle of the open space. This was the pitcher's mound. He couldn't help but smile as he kicked a bit of dirt from the rubber slab beneath his feet. Memories flooded his mind. He could see David in all his glory, winding up and letting loose a fastball. He could see the batter narrowly miss and throw down his bat in frustration. The grinning pride on David's face had been one of young Chester's favorite sights.

As he savored the memories he'd been avoiding for years, Chester closed his eyes without realizing. It was only when a foreign sound rose to his ears that he opened them again. A faint tapping noise came from somewhere behind him. Its steady rhythm gave it away as something unnatural. Dread tingled coldly on his scalp. He was no longer alone. Try as he might, he could not stop his body from turning to face the intruder.

There, standing at the edge of the ball field, the opening in the trees from which Chester had come, stood a figure completely in shadow. From where he stood, Chester could see that he was male and not very tall. In one hand, he held a baseball which he repeatedly tossed into the catcher's mitt he wore on the other.

"No!" Chester exclaimed, softly at first, but with growing desperation. "No, no, no, no!"

The only response came in a single word that echoed through the night. "Ches...."

"Stay away from me, please!" Chester begged. The field began to spin. His mind swam with panicked, partially formed ideas.

"Ches...," the figure repeated. As Chester watched, the dead boy took a step toward him.

Chester's flight was instantaneous. He turned and ran, fast and hard, seeking refuge in the dugout on the far side of the field. There, he squeezed himself into a tiny corner between the bench and wall, hoping against hope to become small enough to avoid whatever punishment the spirit had in mind. His heart pounded and his chest burned and ached. He sputtered and gasped for air. All the while, the ghostly voice could still be heard, coming ever nearer, calling his name. "Ches.... Ches...."

Panic set in. The pain became unbearable, radiating down to his arms, overtaking even the terror of being pursued. Chester felt his consciousness threatening to fade. With his last bit of awareness, he could sense the clacking of cleats coming down the dugout stairs. The figure was now only feet away and moving slowly and steadily toward him. All sensations combined, reducing Chester to a quivering mess of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Davie!" he wailed through a mask of tears. "I'm sorry! Forgive me!"

Silence. No sound, no pain, no light. All was completely still.

Gingerly, Chester pulled himself up from where he had crumbled. An odd but undeniable sense of peace fell over him. His tense muscles loosened. His lungs cooled and unclenched. For a moment, he allowed himself to smile.

"Hey," came a voice from close by.

Chester jumped. He had thought he was alone. When he turned toward the speaker, he saw David standing there. In the darkness of the night, he seemed to give off his own, ethereal glow. All of his features were clearly visible: his shining blue eyes, his freckled skin, his wrinkled and slightly dirty baseball uniform. Notably missing were the marks of death and decay. He looked happy and healthy as he stood there smiling at his friend.

"Hey," Chester said, as if the conversation were the most natural thing in the world. The sound of his own voice, though it was higher than before, did not surprise him. He was rapidly adjusting to his new reality, his happy return to the age of twelve. A quick look back at the adult body in the corner confirmed what he already knew.

"I've been waiting for you," said David.

"Yeah," Chester said, sheepishly. "Sorry it took me so long."

"That's okay," David said. "You're here now." The boy took a step toward Chester and threw his arms around him. This time, Chester responded in kind, pouring into David all the warmth he could manage. The feeling of once again holding his best friend so closely moved Chester to place a delicate kiss on the boy’s cheek. They stayed that way for ages. The embrace seemed to last and last, and neither of them worried about judgement, rejection, or the passage of time.

At last, they let go of each other. David looked at Chester with a playful flame dancing in his eyes. "Want to toss the ball around?" he asked in an almost pleading tone.

Chester grinned back at his best friend. "Absolutely!" he said, and together they bounded up the stairs and onto the ball field.