
The Ghost Runner – Excerpt
We play until lunchtime. Even back before Mom died, Dad got into the habit of making us lunch on Sundays. After we moved in with Grandma, he continued with the tradition. When he calls us in for lunch, I’m only beating Casey and Charlie by three runs. There’s one out and I’ve got a ghost runner at second. Casey’s pitching to me, and Charlie is playing out in the field. This isn’t the best place to pause the game, but we always stop what we’re doing when Dad calls.
When we reach the road, only one hand grabs mine. Casey is there, obediently holding my hand, but Charlie is missing in action.
With narrowed eyes, I turn and look over my shoulder. Charlie hasn’t budged one inch. He’s a statue, standing out by second base. He’s not even looking in our direction, which is strange, but what’s even weirder is he appears to be talking to himself.
“Hey, Charlie,” I yell, trying to get his attention.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. He just continues his bizarre self-conversation. Motioning with one hand, he looks like he’s explaining something. He laughs suddenly before gesturing again.
“Come on, Charlie. I’m hungry,” Casey whines.
I drop Casey’s hand, leaving her by the road. I try calling Charlie’s name again as I walk toward him, but he’s still unresponsive. The imaginary conversation he’s having must be way more exciting than lunch, because he doubles over with laughter.
As I walk up next to him, I grab his arm and give him a little shake. “What the heck are you doing, Bud?”
“Talking to Nicholas,” he replies matter-of-factly. It’s hard to see his hazel-green eyes under the tattered Pirates baseball cap, but they seem to sparkle with excitement.
“Nicholas?” I raise a very skeptical eyebrow at him. “Who’s Nicholas?”
“My friend,” Charlie says without missing a beat.
“Okay… where is Nicholas?” I ask, playing along. Little kids having imaginary friends isn’t too uncommon… right?
“He’s standing on second base.”
“Oh, I get it. You gave our ghost runner a name.”
“No, I didn’t,” Charlie replies. His voice is so serious it startles me. “Nicholas told me his name.”
I look at him carefully for a second, then scoff. “Whatever, Charlie. Come on, it’s time for lunch.” I grab his hand and pull him toward the road, but he resists.
“What about Nicholas?” he asks.
“I think Nicholas will be okay… he’s imaginary,” I reply, trying to laugh this bizarre situation off.
“No, he’s not, Chandler. He’s not imaginary.”
I stare at Charlie, dumbfounded. “Well… okay Charlie. Let’s go get lunch. I don’t think we need to worry about Nicholas.”
“You’re right, Chandler,” he replies, a good-natured smile returning to his face. “Nicholas just told me he doesn’t need to eat.”
Because he’s imaginary, I snark to myself. “Oh yeah, why’d Nicholas say that?” I ask.
“Because he’s a ghost,” Charlie replies with an easy shrug. “Ghosts don’t eat.”