The Beautiful Game

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A man fears the shadows.

Submitted: July 07, 2018

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Submitted: July 07, 2018



The Beautiful Game

Come on boys. Graham was so excited. The big game was on TV in a few hours. At 7.45pm it would begin.

He was at work, dressed in a smart black suit, waiting patiently for potential customers. Graham found it a tad boring, which was understandable. Working in an electrical store had its moments, but sometimes hours would pass with not a single sale. The money wasn't good, at his age things could only improve. Nineteen years young was how he liked to look at it. At school he was an average pupil. At college he messed around too much. Now he found himself working here for pennies. It sucked.

An elderly couple strolled in. They headed straight for the big televisions. Graham followed them eagerly.

Once he'd caught up with the couple, he asked politely, "How may I help you?"

The man who looked in his mid seventies, turned to him before saying, "We are looking for a new television, the one at home isn't working properly. What do you suggest?"

"What size are you searching for? I recommend a 32 inch, not too big, but perfect for you I think."

Seeming pleased, the woman whispered in her husband's ear. Then he said, "Yes we'll take that size."

"Perfect," he replied. "Follow me and I'll show you our range of TVs of that particular size."

"Wonderful," cried the woman, putting her hands together.

Okay, he thought. A slight over reaction, maybe this was the first television they'd got for years. It made him laugh really. A lot of the older generation were so scared of modern technology, they still had TVs from the seventies and eighties. Big bulky things which weighed a ton.

It took about ten minutes to sort the nice couple out. One of the warehouse workers carried the TV out of the shop putting it in the boot of their car. They left the huge car park happy with what they'd purchased.

Making his way to a little desk sat down. He'd been on his feet for ages it seemed like. Thinking of the game later cheered him up. We needed to win this one.

A slam was heard coming from the entrance of the building. This made Graham jump. With surprise the woman who he'd just served ran to him, her husband stood at the entrance looking embarrassed.

Graham suspected they'd been an accident with the TV, and now they were back for a refund, but they left three minutes ago. What the fuck?

"I need to tell you something," the woman said once she'd reached him. "It's important."

He did his salesman bit, and replied politely, "So what's wrong with the television, did you pick the wrong one? We could have another look if you like."

The older lady looked at him gravely, and in a chilling voice said, "I've had a vision. I get them sometimes you see. Something evil is coming for you. Please believe me, I need you to believe me."

What the hell was she talking about?

Her partner appeared getting hold of her, she kept telling him to leave her alone. At this point Graham didn't know what to think, had both of them just escaped from some mental home?

Whatever was happening it was crazy.

Once the elderly gent had dragged her to the door, both argued, there was some shouting.

Graham stared at them bemused. After a minute they left, relief was felt.

............................................................................. Four hours later his shift had ended, he said farewell to the other workers. Heading out of the shop, he proceeded to the bus stop which was about four minutes away.

In a couple of hours was the big game. He couldn't wait. Nothing was going to let him miss that.

Leaving the car park then making it to the narrow path, headed towards the little sign, where a couple of people were observed further up the road, while they waited for the bus. The sun was slowly going down causing shadows everywhere, being late September this was expected, winter was getting closer, Graham hated that time of year, especially when it snowed. The wind suddenly got stronger nearly blowing Graham over.

What the hell?

Another gust even more intense sent him flying, looking up dark clouds swirled menacingly. He'd watched the weather report that morning and nothing like this had been predicted. Thankfully the gusts lessened to the point where Graham stood up, dusting himself down. A little mud stuck to his trousers. Taking it carefully made his way to the bus stop, wanting to get home so he could watch the match.

He stood in the small queue, checking his watch. If the bus arrives on schedule, he should have enough time to cook some food before the game started. Perfect.

The woman in front began to shake violently.

Graham asked her if she was okay. No answer.

She lost her balance, with luck he caught her. Her face looked pale and distorted. She tried to say something but it was muffled. He feared she was having a stroke, then shouted to the man to ring an ambulance now.

The man turned round, his face looked the same. Pale and distorted. Placing a hand on his chest he started coughing up yellow flem as it dripped thickly down his shirt. Then he fell, smacking his head hard on the concrete. Blood ran to the curb.

What the hell was going on?

In Graham's jacket pocket was a phone. Dialing 999, he waited for someone to pick up.

Then a child's voice was heard, "They're coming for you. They're coming for you. They're coming for you."

"Who's that? Could you put an adult on please. This is important," he said, growing a little irritable.

The little girl giggled, before replying, "The shadows are all around, to get you they will. To get you. Just you, Graham."

A shudder ran through him. With shock he threw the mobile away. Perverse laughter came from it. The wind picked up again blowing the phone along the path to a nearby drain. It sat on the edge. He crawled over the two people to retrieve it. When his fingers were a couple of inches from the mobile, taking a deep breath Graham grabbed it. Tickling was felt on his palm. Then a searing pain. He lost his grip, the phone disappeared down the sewer.

"Shit," he yelled.

Checking his hand, a bad cut was observed.

How did that happen?

From behind him he could feel many hands while they grabbed his jacket, pulling him to the ground. Realising he was being confronted by the woman and man, their sharp finger nails peircing his skin. Letting out a scream he kicked the thirty something woman hard in the face, then noticing her eyes were missing, as red ran from the sockets.

"What the hell are you?" he yelled.

The man took a bite into his leg, blood squirted from the wound. Graham tried crawling away, utterly horrified.

Using his feet he kicked them several times in the face and chest, when finally they lay still. He caught his breath, absolutely exhausted.

Without realising the bus had pulled up beside the little sign, the driver couldn't believe what he was witnessing with his own eyes. "Are you alright, mate, what the hell has been going on here?"

Graham was in a world of his own, his eyes closed thinking of the beautiful game. Kane scoring in extra time, the audience cheered. Someone slapped him across the face, straightaway he sat up noticing a man with a bald head staring at him, "Who are you?" he asked.

The driver could tell he needed help. "What happened, mate, have you been sniffing glue or something?"

Graham felt so confused. "I swear I didn't kill them, they attacked me. Please believe me, I had nothing to do with this."

The man scratched the top of his head, before answering, "I don't know what you mean, mate. We are the only ones here."

He didn't believe him, and looking back noticed the man and woman had vanished. "But they were there a minute ago. I just don't understand?"

The driver picked the youngster up, saying, "Let's get you home. If you haven't got any money, I understand. I had a bad experience once, years ago, so I know what it's like. By the way do you follow football? Big game tonight."

Graham slept all the way, he'd never felt so tired. Getting off the bus he thanked the kind gent, then made his way home. Whatever had happened back there he would try and put out of his mind for now, as he had more pressing matters to attend too.

Come on, England. Don't let me down.

Opening the door he still didn't feel right, Graham made his way to the kitchen to turn on the oven, as it took about twenty minutes to heat up properly. Then went upstairs for a relaxing shower, the game wouldn't start for a little while so he had plenty of time to sort himself out.


Shoving another chip in his mouth he watched the game eagerly. The other team had scored a goal after 3 minutes of play. Kane waited patiently for the ball to come to his feet. For most of the first half England struggled. Graham wasn't feeling the love. In the interval he washed up quickly, wanting to get back for part 2. The players came out, looking determined.

Come on, boys!

The start of the second half was promising, as England had most of the possession, finally after fifteen agonising minutes Kane scored a belter. The English fans went wild while they threw their arms around like mad monkeys.

Graham celebrated by opening another can of weak lager. He had work in the morning. By the eightieth minute things were looking bleak, if the score stayed like this then there would be extra time followed by penalties. And by all accounts his team weren't good at penalties.

Please score.

Like a miracle from heaven a substitute who'd come on only seconds before scored in the eighty ninth minute.

Throwing his arms up in the air it felt fantastic, England were ahead with only injury time left. The other team looked gutted, knowing their slight error had cost them the competition.

Once the 90 minutes were over, there was 2 more minutes to go. In the first minute England kept hold of the ball, not taking any chances. The second minute Sweden took possession but before they could do anything to save the game, the final whistle was heard. The game was over. England were through to the semi finals.

Graham couldn't believe it. This was absolutely fantastic. He opened another can of beer, taking a big mouthful he burped loudly. A chill entered the room. Behind him stood several figures, their long pointed finger nails dangled menacingly above his head, their cat like eyes staring with interest. Within a second the living room was empty. The TV still on, as the team celebrated their victory. In the photo just above the fireplace his image had vanished, only to be replaced by mysterious shadows.

The End

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