บท 238: Chapter 238
The sound of the wind howling across the empty street was the only thing left in the city. The streets had once been full of life, but now they were abandoned. Every door was shut tight, every window drawn closed. Only the wind dared move freely through the silence, as if it were afraid of being caught.
Elliot sat by his window, staring out. His fingers tapped lightly against the glass. He watched, but he didn't see. He hadn't seen anything for weeks. No movement, no people. Nothing. Just a ghost of a place, faded by time, left to rot. It was as if the entire world had vanished, leaving only him, as he waited for the inevitable.
It had started a year ago, the strange killings. Bodies found in alleys, in empty streets. No one could figure out what had happened. No sign of struggle, no clues, nothing to suggest a cause. Just people... dead. A bruise on the neck, a dent in their skulls. That was all. A bruise, and a dent.
And then they had come to Elliot's town.
At first, people thought it was a freak accident, a string of unfortunate events. But then the murders began to show a pattern. The victims all shared one thing—each of them had been hit by a baseball. A baseball, thrown with such force that it cracked their skulls open like eggs. But how? How could someone throw a ball with that kind of speed?
And then Elliot had seen him.
He hadn't known his name, hadn't even known his face, but he knew him when he saw him. The figure stood at the edge of the park, where the old baseball field was. At first, Elliot had thought he was seeing things, imagining a shadow out of the corner of his eye. But no, the man had been there, standing still, unblinking, just watching.
No one else had noticed him. No one else had seen. And that's how it always was.
The man had only appeared once more before Elliot saw the bodies. One, two, three—people dead in a week. All of them struck by a ball. Each time, a sound, sharp and impossible, like a thunderclap. Like the snap of a whip, only much louder, and followed by the sound of a body falling, slamming into the ground like a sack of meat. A sickening sound that didn't quite fit with what had happened. Elliot didn't know why, but it stuck in his mind.
He knew the man was still out there. He could feel him. Even through the stillness of his apartment, even as he sat motionless, staring at the empty streets, Elliot knew. The air was heavy, thick.
Elliot could hear it now—the sound of a ball. It was faint, but it was there. The sound of something tearing through the air, slicing through the silence with a force that made his heart skip.
He wasn't sure if it was the wind or the ball that made him flinch. The sound, too fast to track, was followed by the screech of metal scraping against concrete. It came again, the unmistakable sound.
And then he saw it.
A baseball, white and perfect, spinning through the air as though it had come from nowhere. The ball slammed against the side of a car with a deafening thud, denting the metal, knocking it back a few inches.
Elliot's eyes widened. He hadn't heard anything. No footsteps. No sign of anyone coming. Just the ball, spinning through the air like an impossible force of nature.
The man was here.
Elliot didn't know how long he had been waiting for this. He didn't know if it was fear or dread or curiosity that kept him in his seat. All he knew was that it was time. He could feel it, the weight of something inevitable pressing down on him. The same thing that had been weighing on the entire town for months. He was the last person left, the last to feel the terror.
The ball hit the ground with a faint bounce before it rolled, as if it had been thrown by an invisible hand. The space between the ball and the street was narrowing fast.
But there was something wrong.
Elliot turned his head, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the windowsill, staring down at the ball that had stopped a few inches away. The crack of thunder came again, but this time there was no ball.
The man had been here. He had thrown it, just like the others. But there was no sign of him.
The sound came again. The force was too much. And then the ball was back, this time aimed directly at Elliot.
In an instant, the air was filled with a noise that shouldn't have been possible—something louder than a sonic boom. The ball flew past his face with a speed that felt as if it had torn a hole through his body. He barely had time to react before he felt the heat from the impact, the pressure building around him. The window shattered, and then—nothing.
The ball had stopped inches from his face. He could see the scuff marks from where it had scraped against his cheek, feel the rush of air as it passed him by. And the man... nowhere to be found.
Elliot didn't know why he wasn't dead. He could have sworn the ball had been aimed straight at him. He should have been dead. But instead, the ball was there, resting just before him, inches from his face.
The realization hit him. The man wasn't trying to kill him.
He was trying to show him something.
Suddenly, Elliot felt it—the same sickening pressure, the same unease that had been building since the killings had started. He turned toward the window again, this time with dread sinking into his chest.
Something was coming.
The man had been toying with him. Playing a game.
The ball had been the first warning.
The figure appeared again, standing in the middle of the street, under the flickering streetlamp. For a moment, Elliot didn't move. He could feel the man's eyes, even from the distance, watching him. But Elliot couldn't see the man's face. It was just a shadow in the darkness.
And then, the noise returned—the sound of something moving, too fast for the human eye to follow. Another ball, slamming into the ground just a foot away from where Elliot stood. It hit the sidewalk with a loud, hollow crack. He stared at it, almost frozen. His hand reached for the door handle, but his feet stayed where they were.
The man had come closer now. A flash of movement.
It was impossible to follow. Elliot couldn't keep up. He turned and saw nothing but empty street ahead of him.
The man was standing behind him.
Elliot's mind screamed for him to run, but his body didn't respond. He felt the heat on his neck, and the cold sensation of something pulling at his chest.
He heard the ball before he saw it.
There was no time for anything else. A flash, a sound so sharp it almost knocked the breath out of him, and then—
It hit.
The ball smashed into Elliot's skull with the force of a bomb. The world twisted around him in a blur of colors as he fell to his knees, his mind swimming in a haze. His body couldn't move, couldn't scream. The only thing left in his mind was the crack of the ball and the strange stillness that followed.
And then he saw it—him.
The man stood, silent, watching from the shadows. His face was hidden, but the smile, if it could even be called that, was unmistakable. The ball lay on the ground, inches from where Elliot had fallen, still spinning.
The man had shown him all along. He had never been after the kill.
He had just wanted to play.
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