1. Chapter One #2
As I’m walking home, I hear fans chant “Balls! Balls! Balls!” from inside Kyle’s pub, and it makes me think of what Brigley might do if he knew I took something from the stadium without permission.
I shudder to imagine it. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever seen him do anything terrible to someone.
Outside of his duties as owner and coach of the Wonder Balls, I’ve only ever seen him smoke cigars, chew gum, and lurk ominously.
If anyone knew for a fact he did any of the things he’s been rumored to have done, then he’d be in jail.
It’s just that bad things have a way of mysteriously happening after he gets mad.
More than a couple of people who pissed him off up and left Ghostlight Falls in the middle of the night, without telling anyone, and without ever speaking to anyone ever again.
So, I’m not going to tell anyone where I found this box.
When I get to my place, I lock the door behind me and set my bag on the purple sofa (that I got for free off of the curbside, by the way—I’m still proud of that score.) I kick my chunky, black boots off near the entryway while pulling my work uniform shirt off.
Slipping and sliding in my socks on the wood floors, I make my way to my bedroom where I toss the clothes into the hamper.
The doom pile of clean, unfolded laundry leers at me from the chair beside my bed.
Really need to fold those someday... Not today.
I grab one of my many silly t-shirts and pull it over my head.
Today’s tee has a cartoon rat on the front and says “God of Lust” on top and “Be Like Him” on the bottom.
Does it make sense? No, but I got it for two dollars at the Ghostlight Falls thrift store, and it makes me smile.
After tugging on a pair of baggy gray sweatpants, I head back to the living room to retrieve the briefly forgotten box before returning to the bedroom, so I lounge in bed while checking it out.
I wipe the grime off the box using my trusty bedside baby wipes then get to work trying to open it.
The top of it is pitted and worn, but it’s not rusted or anything.
I can make out faded paint with the logo of Rosa’s Dulcería.
It looks way too old to have been owned by the Rosa I know, but the candy store has been around longer with that name than she has.
The two halves of the box are jammed together pretty hard.
Every way I pull is stuck. I grumble with irritation, about to throw the damn thing.
“Please just freaking open,” I say between gritted teeth as I tug again.
The box pops open. Score! And…it’s anticlimactic. There isn’t much inside. A yellowing piece of paper. An empty gum wrapper. A baseball card. The piece of paper has some writing on it, but it’s short, and pretty confusing.
To whoever finds this-
If you’re reading this, then only you can help. This gal needs a lot of it. Help, that is. Please take care of her .
If Brigley is still around when you find this, DO NOT trust him! DO NOT tell him she—or any of the girls—are back!
-V
Brigley? As in Mister Brigley, my boss, owner of the Wonder Balls?
She can’t be talking about the same guy.
The man I know is older than me, yeah, but he’s not old enough to have been around when Rosa’s grandma wrote that.
At least, that’s who I’m guessing V is, anyway, since Valentina owned the candy store before Rosa.
She was old when I was born and dead since I was a little kid.
Oh, I’m so dumb—they must be talking about Brigley’s dad. Or even grandpa? I don’t know anything about his family, but it would make sense.
As for the rest of the letter, what the hell does that mean? Who am I supposed to take care of, and why would I be the only one who could take care of them? How would a candy store owner from way back know who would find this?
Actually, this whole thing was probably left as a prank or something. A joke that they expected someone to find sooner. Hmm .
Well, onto the more exciting part—the baseball card.
I love baseball cards. I especially love rare baseball cards, and I’ve never seen one like this.
It’s clearly old because it’s in black and white, first off, and they started regularly producing color photograph cards in the fifties.
Second, this is a card featuring a player from the North American Ladies Baseball League, which went under in 1952.
Wait . The North American Ladies Baseball League never had baseball cards. They didn’t get treated with that kind of respect.
I read the card carefully.
Pearl Monroe
North American Ladies Baseball League All Star
Pitcher—Ghostlight Falls Wonder Belles—1943-1946
Wait, what? Ghostlight Falls had a women’s baseball team? That can’t be right. I’ve read everything I could find on our town’s baseball history ever since I learned to read. Not once was anything named Wonder Belles mentioned. It’s Wonder Balls. Always has been.
I read the card again and again, but it doesn’t give me any further hints about the team, only a blurb about the player, Pearl.
“Pearl Monroe is famous for her ability to pitch and bat both left and right-handed with equal skill. While much of her childhood remains a mystery, her early adult years were spent with the glitterati. Though she’s best known for her films such as “Funny Broad” and “One Night in Ontario,” she’s also done charity work by filming public service warnings for schools like “Reefer Goons, Get Lost!” and “Pants On, Books Open. ”
Well, that’s…outdated.
I look at the picture again. The face of Pearl Monroe smiles at me. She’s really beautiful. Anyone could tell by looking that she’s hamming it up for the camera.
In those days they made women wear skirts while playing, and she’s posing in a way that shows just a little more leg than strictly necessary.
She’s got this big, cheeky smile while holding the bat, the kind of expression you’d see on the old pin-up art.
Her light blonde ponytail, poking out the back of her red cap, is curled perfectly at the end.
Somehow, even though it’s in black and white, I can tell that the dark tint of her lips is red.
Damn, she’s hot. No wonder she got a baseball card back when no other ladies did.
“I wish I had a pretty girlfriend like her who liked baseball as much as I do,” I mumble.
Ugh. Maybe I’m a little lonelier than I thought because now I just feel sad. There really isn’t anyone like this Pearl girl around here. Fucking woe is me.
I set the box and card on my bed. Turning on the computer to get it ready to game, I put a background show on the T.V.
and leave the room. In the kitchen, I grab a cold drink of water to reset my system.
No use in sitting around dehydrated and feeling sad about girls when I have technology to numb my brain.
As I head back toward my room, I hear a rustling sound coming from inside. It’s not loud but there’s definitely movement. From the hallway, I creep closer toward the open door. I’d grab my bat to protect myself, but of course I left it under my bed .
Please don’t kill me before I beat the game. I haven’t even unlocked all the stadiums yet.
My heart pounds as I poke my head just barely inside. What horrible creature might be waiting there to maim me?
Holy Fucking Balls.
Pearl Monroe is standing in my bedroom, in full color, alive …ish.
I’m pretty sure she’s talking to me, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. I’m too busy processing the fact that she’s made of fucking paper .