Field of Screams

  She was a nice lady. I felt bad for worrying her.

  “I’m fine. Really,” I answered. “Sorry I scared you yesterday. I—uh—I guess I was a little confused.”

  “Don’t give it another thought, dear,” Mrs. Johnson told me. “Go on into the dining room. Your breakfast is waiting.”

  I slid into a seat in the dining room. The table was covered with platters of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and potatoes. Boog sat there with a full plate, chowing down.

  “Wow,” I muttered under my breath. It was amazing to me these people could even move, they ate so much!

  I loaded my plate with some pancakes and bacon. “Where’s Coach?” I asked Boog.

  He scowled at me. “At work, stupid.”

  While Boog and I ate, Mrs. Johnson fluttered around, dusting things. She wore a pink dress with a flowered apron tied over it.

  I can’t imagine my mom doing housework in a dress. She cleans in a grubby sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans.

  I pushed my plate away and glanced at Boog. “What time is the game?” I asked.

  “About three. Dad is leaving work early to make it there on time.” He shoved one last giant forkful of eggs into his mouth and stood up. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s hit some flies and rollers.”

  “Okay,” I agreed after a second.

  I was surprised that Boog wanted to play ball with me. I hoped he wasn’t just trying to get me alone so he could finish beating me up.

  But I figured I might as well take the chance. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do before the game.

  The sun was already beaming through the clouds when we went outside. We crossed to Ernie’s house and went through his backyard. Boog shoved aside the same fence boards I crawled through all those years in the future. We squirmed through the fence, into the same field where Eve and I practiced.

  I mean, where we were going to practice, in fifty years.

  Whatever. My brain was starting to hurt.

  Boog’s version of flies and rollers went like this: You catch five flies or ten ground balls to earn a turn at bat. Boog batted first, and man, did he make me work! He swatted balls all over the field. By the time I earned my chance at bat, I must have trotted two miles.

  “Made you run,” he snickered when he handed me the bat.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see how you do, big guy,” I puffed. I was so hot, I thought I might explode.

  Boog hustled across the field, and I started hitting to him.

  Anything I hit above his head, he could catch. No problem. But grounders and drives below the waist were hard for him.

  After watching him for a minute, I waved him over. We ran and met about halfway.

  “I think I know what you’re doing wrong,” I said.

  Boog flushed. “Oh, yeah? I do all right, smart guy.”

  “Hey, chill out. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Chill out?” he sneered. “Where did you learn that dumb expression?”

  “Uh, I—I heard it somewhere, I guess,” I stammered. I had to watch what I said. Chill out was from way after Boog’s time. “Anyway, I think I can help you with those low ones.”

  Boog folded his arms. “Is that so?”

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, I thought. Boog was starting to look as if he wanted to pound me again. And anyway, the worse he played, the more chance we would have of losing the game today—and missing the championship.

  “All right, genius, I’m waiting,” Boog growled.

  Me and my big mouth.

  “See, it’s natural to catch a high one,” I began. “You put the glove between your eyes and the ball. But for low ones, you put the glove between the ball and the ground, or the ball and your body. So you have to hold your head differently for those.”

  He looked slightly puzzled. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Watch.” I bent over and showed him what I meant, following the path of an imaginary ball.

  He turned his glove, mimicking my moves.

  Then, to my surprise, he grinned. “Hit me some.”

  He turned and chugged across the field. I trotted back to the fence and hit him a short fly ball, making him run up. He turned his glove at the last minute. The ball bounced off.

  “Hold it like a basket for those,” I yelled. “Open.”

  I hit him another. He got it that time. Then the next one, and the next, and the next.

  By the time we finished, Boog was snagging everything I could hit. He ran up, grinning. “It works. Did you see that?” He pounded his fist in his glove. “Wait till Dad sees me now!”

  I couldn’t help grinning back at him. And it wasn’t just because now he wouldn’t try to beat me up anymore. It’s corny, but I actually felt glad I helped Boog.

  Boog pulled off his glove and shouldered the bat. “Come on, let’s go see if Mom’s got some lemonade.”

  We walked back to the fence. Boog crawled through. I glanced up and saw Ernie staring at us from an upstairs window.

  The day suddenly seemed less bright. For a minute there, I had forgotten where I was. Playing ball, joking with Boog, made me relax.

  But seeing Ernie reminded me of everything that happened the night before. The ghost, or whatever it was, that nearly smothered me in my bed.

  I had to find a way to lose the game today. I had to get out of there now. If I didn’t, it was going to take a lot more than lemonade to make me feel better.

  Because that thing was coming back for me!

  15

  The game was played in Shadyside this time. No bus. We were the home team, so we took the field first. I stood at third and banged my fist into my glove. I was trying to beam mental messages to the batter.

  Want to score some runs? I thought at him. Just hit it my way, and I’ll see what I can do for you.

  The first two batters struck out, but the third hit one my way I let it bounce off my glove. Then I chased after the ball as if I were in a hurry. I made sure I kicked it just as I reached to pick it up.

  By the time I got the ball, the runner was on second. I decided to settle for that. If I made too many errors on one play, it would look suspicious.

  “What is with you, Gibson?” Johnny Beans yelled. “You got holes in your glove or something?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Sorry,” I called back. I tried to sound as if I meant it.

  The next batter walked. That meant the other team had runners on first and second, with two out.

  The next batter kept fouling out to the left. I thought he might hit one down the third baseline, so I edged toward second.

  Sure enough, he hit a bouncer right toward third base.

  I made a big deal about diving for the ball. I knew I was short. It would go on by.

  But then something weird happened.

  The ball looked as if it struck an invisible wall in midair. It hung in the air for a split second.

  Then it curved around and wobbled into my glove—without me doing a thing!

  Huh?

  I tried to miss it—but I caught it anyway!

  “Nice play, Gibson!” Coach Johnson roared.

  I climbed to my feet, staring at the ball in my glove.

  The runner from second charged right into me for the third out.

  The crowd in the bleachers cheered wildly as our team ran off the field. My teammates slapped me on the back and congratulated me. Even Boog called out, “Good one!”

  “What a play!” Johnny Beans exclaimed as we tossed down our gloves. “How did you do that? I thought that ball was by you for sure!”

  I shrugged. “Just a lucky break,” I mumbled.

  But it didn’t feel like a lucky break. I was almost positive that ball changed course in midair.

  Then a voice whispered behind me, “I know what you’re doing, you rat. You’re trying to lose! But I won’t let you.”

  I whirled around.

  No one behind me.

  “Did—did you say something?” I asked Johnny.

&nbsp
; “Nope,” he replied.

  But I knew that already.

  Because I recognized that thin, cold voice. The voice from last night. From the ghost, or whatever it was, that attacked me.

  It followed me! It was here!

  And somehow it was interfering with the game!

  Why? What did a ghost care about a baseball game? Why did a ghost want Shadyside to win?

  In the dugout, I checked the lineup sheet. I was batting cleanup.

  Good. I would make sure I struck out. There was nothing a ghost could do to prevent that!

  The bases were loaded when I got to the plate. I stepped up with a hollow feeling in my stomach. I was never at bat before when I didn’t try to do my best. But I made myself swing at the first two pitches like a goof.

  My teammates yelled from the dugout.

  “Use your eyes, Buddy.”

  “Don’t swing at junk!”

  “Come on, Gibson!”

  I swung at the third pitch, a ball way outside. There was no way I could hit it.

  Then the ball changed course.

  Not like a curveball. It was as if the ball whacked into something and bounced off. It hit me on the elbow.

  The umpire jumped up and hollered, “Hit by the pitch! Automatic walk. Take your base!”

  I groaned and slung my bat toward the dugout. I trudged to first as the kid on third ambled home.

  “Hah,” the cold voice whispered in my ear. “You can’t stop me. I’m growing stronger. I’m going to get you!”

  I shuddered.

  I was starting to realize the horrible truth.

  I couldn’t lose.

  No matter what I did, the ghost wasn’t going to let me throw the game. I didn’t know why.

  All I knew was, my chance to change history was going down the tubes.

  And so was my chance to survive!

  16

  We won the game seven to three. Boog was a maniac in the outfield. He made one incredible play after another.

  As for me, I kept trying my best to lose the game. But the harder I tried, the more I looked like a star.

  My plays seemed impossible. The other guys started to stare at me as if I were some kind of wizard or something.

  I couldn’t blame them. The plays were totally impossible. The ghost made them all happen. I had nothing to do with it.

  If I tripped over my own feet, something would make me sail gracefully through the air and snag a line drive like a Hall of Famer.

  If I threw wide, the ball would curve like a Frisbee and smack solidly into the first baseman’s glove.

  If I hit a fly ball, it would just keep going—and going—until it soared over the fence and vanished.

  I could have played standing on my head and never missed a lick.

  It was horrible!

  After the game, Coach Johnson drove Boog and me into town. He dropped us off at a little grocery store. “I’ve got to do some errands,” he explained. “Why don’t you boys get yourselves a few goodies? My treat.” He reached into his pocket.

  Excellent! I thought. I’d really love a can of soda right now. And maybe a candy bar.

  Then coach handed each of us a quarter.

  A quarter! I stared at the coin. What could I possibly get for twenty-five lousy cents?

  “Thanks, Dad!” Boog said happily. “Let’s go, Buddy.”

  I followed him into the tiny store. It was crammed with old-fashioned-looking cans and bottles, stacked on wooden shelves. Jars of hard candy lined the counter. Below them lay rows of candy bars and gum.

  A big red cooler stood by the counter, COCA-COLA was written on the side. Boog walked over to it and opened the lid.

  I peered inside and saw rows of bottles hanging from racks by their tops. Boog slid a Coke free. I watched closely and did what he did.

  When I opened it, the drink was just a little bit frozen. It tasted really good. Even better than Coke usually tasted.

  And the best part was, I bought the Coke, a bag of gum, and a Three Musketeers bar for only eleven cents! Also, the candy bar was definitely bigger than the ones in my own time.

  I guess 1948 did have its good points.

  Boog and I sat on a bench in front of the store. We ate our candy while we watched the cars go by.

  Boog was obviously feeling good. “Did you hear what Dad told me?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “He said it was the best he’d ever seen me play.”

  “You had a great game,” I agreed glumly.

  “Not as good as yours though,” Boog said generously. He drained his soda and belched. “I feel like I hit my stride today. I just wish the season wasn’t almost over.”

  “I know. I wish it would go on too,” I agreed.

  Boy, did I wish!

  But tomorrow was the championship. Do-or-die time.

  No joke!

  Boog leaned back on the bench and took a deep breath. “Just smell that summer air, Buddy. That’s baseball air. And tomorrow will be the best day. We’ll win the championship and everyone will know we’re number one. Man, life is sweet.”

  His words made me feel miserable. The best day? Hardly. The last day was more like it. The worst day.

  There had to be something more I could do to stop the accident!

  I could run away, I thought. Then I could hide long enough to stay off that bus. To stay alive.

  But what about everybody else on the team? What about Johnny Beans? And Boog?

  Maybe I should try to tell Boog what I knew. Then he would know to stay off the bus too.

  Forget it. He would just think I was crazy—like everyone else did. “Been there, done that,” I muttered.

  “What?” Boog asked.

  “Nothing,” I answered, sighing.

  No. There was nothing I could do but run away. Save myself—and hope that I could find my way back to my own time someday. I couldn’t worry about the rest of the team.

  And then I got an idea.

  It was so simple, I almost didn’t believe it could work. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

  Yes!

  A stupid grin crept across my face. “You know what?” I said.

  “What?” Boog glanced at me.

  “We are going to win that game tomorrow,” I declared.

  He laughed. “Sure we are!” He punched me on the shoulder. “We’re the Doom Squad! We have to win!”

  You are so right, I thought. We have to win!

  If we win, we’ll go to the party after the game. We won’t get right on the bus to go home.

  And we won’t be on those tracks when the train comes to squash us.

  And I know how to win the game! I know what the last play will be! Ernie told me about it before I ended up in the past.

  All I have to do is hug the foul line and grab that last line drive. And I’ll save the whole team!

  I’ll change history!

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Now that I knew what to do, I wondered if I could pull it off. Everything had to go just right. I had to play the best game of my life!

  All I knew was, I’d better have what it takes.

  Then I remembered my other little problem.

  That ghost. It told me it was coming back. Coming for me.

  Would I still be around for tomorrow’s game?

  17

  That night, as I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, I got the feeling someone was watching me.

  I stopped mid-brush. Toothpaste ran from my mouth. I glanced up into the mirror.

  No one there.

  After a second, I spat out the rest of the toothpaste and reached for the towel.

  Wait—did I glimpse something in the mirror?

  No. It was only me. Or, rather, Buddy Gibson. His face looked back at me from the mirror. It still freaked me out. That blond crew cut. The scar. They didn’t belong to me!

  Shivering, I turned away from the mirror. I went into my room and slid into bed. I switched off the lamp. Darkness surrounded
me.

  I listened to the sounds of the house settling down. I had to stay awake. I didn’t want that ghost to catch me by surprise. Once I was sure the adults were in bed, I would switch the lamp back on.

  But even though I was terrified, I was wiped out. After a while I drifted off.

  When I opened my eyes again, it was hours later. I lay in bed, tense.

  The last time I woke like this, I had a visitor.

  I stared around. I saw nothing unusual.

  Moonlight poured through the window. My desk chair cast a long shadow on the wall.

  Very slowly I sat up, careful to make no sound. I studied the shadows.

  Did this one move? Did that one?

  “You’re just working yourself up,” I whispered.

  But something woke me. I was sure of it.

  And something was different about this room. What was it?

  The closet door. It was closed. Wasn’t it open when I went to bed?

  Mrs. Johnson probably came in and shut it while I was asleep, I thought. That’s all.

  But I couldn’t convince myself. The more I stared at the door, the more nervous I got.

  I licked my lips. I felt my heart stepping up its rhythm. I had to do something before I scared myself to death.

  I reached for the lamp switch and turned it.

  The bulb blew out with a loud crackle.

  “Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”

  I eased out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I flipped the switch for the overhead light. I sighed with relief as light flooded the room.

  The shadows vanished.

  Now, with the light on, my fears felt foolish. Just my imagination running away with me. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

  Now I could go back to bed.

  Wait. Not just yet.

  I had to see if there was anything behind the closet door.

  I padded over to the closet and put my hand on the doorknob. I turned it.

  CRACKKKKK!

  The overhead bulb blew out.

  I tried to slam the door shut. But it was too late. It swung open with a slow creak. I couldn’t hold it closed.

  I gasped. The moonlight fell across a figure in the closet. It was dark, smoky. It seemed wrapped in shadows. But this time I could make out features.