Final Score

It’s spooky season and the baseball playoffs. So this week’s new flash fiction is The Shining meets The Natural.

Photo by Lan Gao on Unsplash.  

Final Score

Merlie had the second sight. She always knew when something good was happening for her Eli. When the scout from LSU showed up on the airboat to offer him a full ride, she felt the Twinge like a thunderbolt.

He learned to throw the pea firing pebbles at gator eyes poking out above the bayou surface. His even sweeter hitting stroke was honed swinging a broomstick at fireflies.  

When he got to the show, he was found to be somewhat limited despite his lyrical origin story. But he found a niche as a pinch hitter, cool and collected for his occasional high stakes cameo.

As he approached the decisive seventh game of his first World Series, why he would attract the attention of certain unsavory ambassadors from the desert was a mystery to him. But sharp money players had identified him as a possible linchpin for a late inning situation and a final piece of the crooked pie they were baking.

“Listen, country boy. There is a chance you come up in a big spot tonight. You will not hit the ball. You hear me? You just watch it go by. No walks. If you get ahead in the count just swing at anything. We know where you live. We know where your momma lives. We got friends in the swamp too.”

Eli decided he would do as he was told. He would do nothing to put Merlie at risk.

Merlie called before the game with puzzling news.

“I’ve got the Twinge something fierce. Had to sit down taking in the wash. Feels like it did right before your first home run. You gonna have a big night, son.”

     Eli did not correct her but it didn’t compute. The Twinge only struck before moments of triumph. What could possibly go right tonight given the shackles imposed on him. Eli wondered if his momma was slipping. The Twinge had never failed her. Or foretold bad news.

Of course, Eli was fated to have a pivotal at-bat in the bottom of the ninth inning of the Series’ ultimate contest. He strode to the plate in a tie game, two out, bases full.

Given the circumstances normally he would be a bundle of nerves. But here he was resigned to his fate. Knew his hands were tied. Calmly waited for the pitch knowing he wouldn’t offer.  Lowered his hands and his guard.

The ball started high and tight and bore further up and in. In his trancelike state he didn’t flinch. The pitch struck him flush on the temple and rolled back towards the mound. Like dropping a melon from a roof, the catcher would later say describing the sound. The runner on third base, representing the winning run, was confused but ultimately decided to do his duty and gingerly touch home plate carefully stepping around what was already a corpse. The crowd did not make a sound. Among it one spectator was particularly concerned. For himself. He wore a suit with pinstripes that matched the winning players. And he realized that the strikeout he had paid for had not occurred. In fact, his pigeon inadvertently had created a run in a way that would be fatal to them both. He exited through the hushed crowd thinking of ways to exit the country. Maybe by boat, he thought.

Upriver, Merlie felt a surge. The Twinge had not hit her this hard maybe ever, certainly not since the day Eli first made a major league roster. It pulsed like never before. Of course, her son had never before had a walk-off game winning RBI in a title clinching game, however maudlin and uncelebrated. Few had. That was the good thing that Eli hadn’t considered. The Twinge seemed to sniff out the victory among the darkness.

But this Twinge was different. It was part something else. As this triumph was part something else. The Twinge did not abate as usual after the initial charge. In this case it turned, continued and deepened. Until finally Merlie’s lifeless hand draped over the arm of her rocker.

She didn’t follow the games on TV or radio. She preferred to hear her boy describe his exploits after the fact on their traditional post-game call.

Eventually Merlie’s phone did ring, echoing throughout the empty swamp. Of course she could not pick up. And of course, it was not her beloved boy on the other end.