Go Cards

"No no no, I'm telling you man this isn't a squirrel, it ain't a raccoon, and sure as hell ain't a possum. Something is moving around in this place at night!"

 "Ok, has anybody else heard it?"

 "I'm not exactly having guests over, it's still being renovated in here."

 "Alright, I'll come over. We'll go full ghost hunters on this bitch."

 "If by that you mean Ghost ADVENTURES then yes sir."

 "Whatever I stand by Ghost Hunters, it's a solid ass show."

 "If you like fake shows that's fine, just be here at 6 I'll order pizza you bring beer."

 "Right on talk to ya later."

 Zack hangs up, doing a quick once around his half-finished bedroom. Ghosts aren't around during the day probably, he thinks to himself shaking his head. Six o’clock comes around and he gets a text from Grant: [Let me in bitch I’s gots the brewskies.]

Zack frantically pulls up his pants after taking a messy shit, spraying apple cinnamon Glade as he walks out of the bathroom.

 “Yo the door was unlocked Zack!” Grant yells from the main room.

 “What’d you get?” asks Zack as Grant holds up an open 24 pack of Milwaukee Ice, smiling as he’d already had a couple.

 “Hey man, why does it smell like apple cobbler dooky in here?” Asks Grant waving his hand in front of his face.

 “I’ve been having some weird shits.”

 “Who drops a deuce at 6 o’clock ugh, whatever bro turn on the game. Where’s the pizza?”

 “It’ll be here soon lemme get my buzz on first. Geez, you could’ve got an 18 pack of something a little better, but ok.” Grant shrugs his shoulders as he downs another beer.

 “You know the pot’s up to $20,000 right Grant?”

“The pot?” asks Grant wiping off suds from his chin.

 “Yeah, dude the raffle I’ve been collecting for the World Series? I got over a hundred people from around town to enter it. The top prize is 20k, but you have to call the series to a T.”

 “What if nobody does? asks Grant. To that Zack smiles, and points to a black leather-bound notebook.

 “Then the top prize gets ‘redistributed’”, he says laughing.

 “Wow dude that’s shady, but uh, I’m definitely getting a cut since you just ratted yourself out to me.”

Zack gives him an annoyed look and says, “You didn’t even enter, but sure man I’ll buy you some more throw-up beer” taking a begrudging sip.

 “Game 7 babyay!” yells grant as the National Anthem begins to play.

 “The 2011 World Series Rangers/Cardinals game is brought to you buy Budweiser the King of Beers,” says the announcer after the anthem.

 “So you wanna see what I was talking about man?”

 “What?” asks Grant, hardly paying attention.

 “The noises I was telling you about,” says Zack. Grant looks at him, then back at the TV.

 “Well, I guess there are 9 innings. Sure man let's investigate real quick.”

 Zack and Grant get up from the couch and head toward the hallway.

 “Ugh let's hope whatever you did in that bathroom is repellent enough to keep the poltergeist away,” says Grant waving his hand in front of his face.

 “Shut up man, come on, I can hear it coming from the basement.”

 Grant takes a wary glance back at the living room, “alright lead the way.”

 Zack stops at a solid oak door with a brass handle and hesitantly pulls it open. It creaks noisily like an old rocking chair as he slowly opens it all the way. The stairs are steep, and it's pitch black.

 “You gotta light there bud?” asks Grant with impatience.

 “It’s at the bottom,” says Zack, turning back to look at Grant.

 “Oh--- uh well let's go then I don’t wanna miss too much of the game,” says Grant as they both start to walk down the stairs, each step creaking loudly. They get halfway down the steps when the door slams shut behind them. Grant trips into Zack, and they both careen down the stairs uncontrollably. Zack hits the bottom first as Grant quickly follows suit, landing on Zack’s neck with an audible snap.

 “Oh fuck oh shit,” says Grant fumbling around for a light switch, “dude dude dude, what the fuck dude, what the fuck,” he says in panic as he eventually feels the string for the light. He pulls on it, and the room lights up faintly. Zack is on the floor in a horrible position, his head is completely twisted 180 degrees to the right. Grant stares in horror for a moment, then bolts for the stairs. He makes it to the top and opens the door. Daylight pours through and confuses Grant, as it should be almost 8’oclock by now.

 A police officer strolls by him without taking notice. He has a bored expression on his face, not seeming to see Grant at all.

 “Yeah somehow these two guys fell down the stairs, one landed on the other, and then smashed his own head on the corner.” A younger cop follows with a bewildered expression on his face.

 “Ya know lieutenant, I think this is the guy who held that raff---”

 “Shhhh,” says the older cop, “what raffle Stewart? There ain’t no money lying around here. He must’ve spent it all. Besides, it’s fucking illegal anyway,” he says busting out laughing. Grant sulks down the hallway, realizing his fate. He stops in the living room to catch a glimpse of a parade in Downtown St.Louis, the Cardinals had won the 2011 World Series.

 "Fucking right GO CARDS!" screams Grant as Zack comes hobbling with his hideous twisted neck into the living room.

 "We won huh?" asks Zack.

 Grant just looks at him in disgust.