The Red Sox Cap

I was walking down the front, in my ever famous Sox cap. I turned it around as I passed the Ashworth. It was an absolutely gorgeous day out; the sun was shining brightly onto the ever moving Atlantic, screams of girls and boys playing baseball by the wall, the sound of the bat cracking as it made contact with the tennis ball, waves crashing, Harleys roaring, and of course, the talk of the up coming Sox game that night. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pack of cigarettes, and lit up. I sat down on a bench in front of the rocks and watched the five-year-olds look for crabs and starfish. I scratched my facial hair and inhaled the smell of the ocean. I just sat there for a few moments and then decided to head home. I walked down the back streets and onto Brown Ave. where I entered my small house. It wasn’t much, but for my purposes it was perfect. Few blocks from the beach, thirty minute walk to North Beach, it was perfect. 1

I kicked my Converse off and landed a seat on my couch in front of the TV. I didn’t bother to turn it on, since I knew an update on the last Sox game would be the only thing I would watch. That would be too painful, the score, was so unbelievable, they lost by nine runs, nearly killed my insides. I took a sip of the Sam Adams next to me and fell asleep.2

-~~~3

I woke to a loud rattling on my door, late at night. I had one of those aluminum doors, and if anyone knocked it would sound like someone dropped a bag of a thousand empty soda cans. Loud bangs came next, almost frantic, but angry. I walked over to the door and looked out through the screen, no one was there. I reached back to scratch my head, realizing my hat was still on. I smiled; nothing bad had ever happened to me while wearing this hat.4

I returned to my recliner and turn the TV on; snow came up. 5

“What the hell?” I mumbled and switch the station to 62. ESPN was snow, ESPN 2, snow, Comedy Central, snow. “What the hell is goin’ on?”6

I looked at my clock and it read ten thirty. “I haven’t had a lot o’ beahs, I can’t be goin’ insane,” I whispered raising my eyebrows. I didn’t have satellite either; someone probably cut my cable wire again. I tied my Converse, secured my cap, and grabbed a flashlight. I walked onto the deserted street. “That’s messed up, no drunks oah nothin’.” I quickly walked behind my house to the dirt path. Shining my flashlight on the ground I saw it, the cut cable. 7

“Gawd damnit,” I muttered picking up the separated wire. I shook my head and walked over to the tool box grabbing some electrical tape. “This had bettah woahk.”8

I taped the cords together and walked inside. I turned my TV set on again, and something came up, but it sure as hell wasn’t about the Red Sox. A bloody knife was being dropped just falling through air, then it sunk into a chest, making a so life like sound. I cringed as I saw the blood pouring out of the hopeless mans chest. I quickly changed the channel; there it was again, except now, the knife was being drawn slowly out of the man’s heaving chest, his unbearable moans, and you could hear the sounds of his skin tightening around the blade, the blood being smeared. I flipped the station again, this time the blade was lowered to the man’s throat, slicing through as smoothly as Damon hitting that grand slam last year. His jugular burst and a fountain of blood came up through his skin, like a bubbler. I slammed my thumb onto the red power button, watching the darkness consume the blood trail. 9

“Maybe I just blacked out,” I muttered going to my refrigerator to get a soda. I grabbed a Coke and walked over to the sink to stare out over the parking lot. I closed my eyes, took a sip, then looked back out the window. “My fucking Gawd.”10

I stumbled back to the table looking in horror at the blood that was smeared over the window. It was in the form of a hand print, like someone reached up and grabbed it, and fell to the ground. I moved my hands back along the table, and felt something warm like a human hand.11

I spun around looking for the source but there was nothing there, nothing was on my table. I figured that I should run to Danny’s and just calm down over there. I spun around but slipped on something wet, and fell into something sodden as well. I looked at my hands; crimson; the red liquid glaring up at me, gleaming evilly. I screamed and looked back for the culprit, or the source of the blood; no one was there. I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood quickly. I ran into my living room, to see a man, dressed all in black, with missing teeth, and a bloody knife in his hand, staring back at me. 12

“Shit,” I muttered and hopped over the railing to the staircase next to me. I ran up to my bed room, breathing heavily. I slammed the door behind me and locking it. I looked over at my window, and ran for it when Danny’s head fell in front of it. His face was cut all down the sides, his eyes had been gouged out, his mouth wide open, but no tongue or teeth inside. His neck was severed and his chest had a huge wound in it. 13

“Danny?” I whispered knowing full well he was dead. Then his eyes popped back in, yet they were a bright shade of red, no pupil or white part surrounding it, just red. He grinned at me, just hanging there, and laughed.14

“YEEESS?” he shrieked loudly, in the middle of his echoing laugh. He put a fist through the window and proceeded to enter my room.15

I stared at him, wide eyed, and crying. I reached over to my desk; maybe my old fast ball still had something. I looked at the ball I was holding; signed by Pedro, the trader (and I mean, trader, going to the Yankees, HOW COULD HE). I glared at the ball in my hand and then looked at Danny who was slowly creeping through the window. I threw the ball at him hard, his head being knocked backwards, his body falling down outside the window, but his head rolled to my feet, still laughing. I kicked it hard and into the corner of the room.16

“YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM HIM SEAN! YOU CAN’T HE SEES YOU EVERYWHERE!” the head shrieked.17

I leaned up against the wall next to the door, breathing heavily, muttering about nothing in particular, and crying. I felt safe for the moment as I reached up and touched my Sox cap.18

A fist suddenly came slamming through my door; no human could have done that. It reached for the knob. I jumped in front of the door, putting my palms on it and pushing hard. 19

“Stop fighting, Sean, that will just make it more painful,” a hoarse voice growled. I hadn’t the courage to say anything, so I just pushed harder on the door. A knife came through and right into my chest. I squealed in pain, dropping down besides the door, holding my torso, as my Sox cap fell off. The door was kicked open and the man who was once standing in my hall way was now in my bed room. 20

I clenched my chest, the searing pain tearing through my whole body; my eyes were blurred by tears, my thoughts by fear. The man kicked me in the balls and walked over to my Sox cap, tossing it out the window.21

“NOOO!” I yelled reaching out for my hat, knowing full well I couldn’t get it. The man stepped onto my outstretched hand, snapping my wrist. I whimpered in agony as the pain in my chest, groin, and arm became unbearable.22

“You lucky cap won’t save you now,” he snarled straddling me. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve tried to kill you? Maybe with out that damn thing, I’ll have a chance.”23

“What did I do to you?” I questioned, each word spoken between inhales of excruciating pain.  24

“If you don’t know, I ain’t gunna be the one to tell you,” he snarled taking a switch blade out of his pocket and popping it open. He raised it above his head, slamming it into my chest; I swear it went straight through me and into the floor. I felt the blade tear through my rough flesh, break away part of my rib cage, and I’m sure it fractured part of my spinal cord, but not sure on that. It killed as the knife was pulled out, more so than when it was driven into me. This hurt almost as badly as Boone knocking that homer off Wakefield to end the game in 2003. I felt blood filling my insides, bones poking at organs, a lung collapsing, so I thought. 25

The man reached over to my broken hand and squeezed the fracture tightly. A white hot pain shot through my arm and into my head. A ringing was forming in my skull, bouncing off the walls of it, echoing through my brain.26

Finally he let go of my hand and took the blade into his right hand. He quickly thrust it into my left eye. I screamed, high pitched, unbearable, scream. He then thrust the knife into my right eye and I felt him turn the blade, removing my eye from its socket. 27

He laughed this deep, cold laugh. I then felt my own blood being dabbed onto my throat, in the shape of an X. Then it entered me where the X was, pinning me to the ground. 28

My breath was caught short, and I was no longer able to cry or care about anything else in the world.29

“At least you lived to see the Sox win the Series,” the man laughed, as he turned the knife in my throat, breaking through one of the bones, causing my life to leave me. 30