A Season in Hell

By Kenneth W. Cain

Just one season can change everything. When Dillon Peterson is honored for his baseball career, he must face a ghost that has long haunted him. He is transported back through his memories to a single season in the nineties that broke his heart.

That was the season he met Keisha Green, the first and only woman to play baseball in the minor leagues. He sees what she goes through, what she must endure just to play the game both of them love, and this struggle leads to their friendship. As matters escalate, Dillon finds himself regretting his role in it all, as well as his career in baseball.

Proudly represented by Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from the Darkest Depths.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crystal Lake Publishing
• Release date: Sep 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9798201616496

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Copyright 2018 Kenneth W. Cain

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All Rights Reserved

Layout:

Monique Snyman

Cover Art:

Luke Spooner – http://carrionhouse.com/home-page

Proofread by:

Naching Kassa

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors’ imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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Welcome to Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from the Darkest Depths.

Other titles by Kenneth W. Cain

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Adult fiction:

Alien Born (The Saga of I)

United States of the Dead

These Old Tales: A Collection of Dark Fiction

Fresh Cut Tales: A Collection of Dark Fiction

Embers: A Collection of Dark Fiction

Lifeblood

Jade

The Adventures of Alexin

Non-fiction:

Writers on Writing

Middle Grade fiction:

From The Deep Will Rise (Book 1 in the series)

Early Reader:

How Marbles Roll

Hardy the Allergic Cat & Willy the Wrong Way Woodpecker

RE: Animated: Three Apocalyptic Tales for Kids

When Vampires Eat Fast Food & Cooking with Monsters

3 Fun Tales About Monsters

Math Is For Mummies: Addition & Subtraction

Frankie's Alphabet: an A to Z alphabet picture book

The Big Book of Monsters & Friends activity book

Other novellas by Crystal Lake Publishing

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Quiet Places: A Novella of Cosmic Folk Horror by Jasper Bark

The Final Reconciliation by Todd Keisling

Run to Ground by Jasper Bark

Devourer of Souls by Kevin Lucia

Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love by Mercedes M. Yardley

Wind Chill by Patrick Rutigliano

Little Dead Red by Mercedes M. Yardley

Sleeper(s) by Paul Kane

Stuck On You by Jasper Bark

For Aleia

A Season in Hell

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Twenty years after the season that almost ended his career far too soon, Dillon Peterson stood before a crowd, still feeling as woozy and sick as he did that first at-bat. Only this time, being here in front of all these fans, troubled him. He had no business here on this stage, and knowing that made his legs weaken as he neared the podium. When he got there, he clung to the mahogany dais as if it were all that held him up, the weight of this moment as heavy as any in his life.

A sea of red and gray clothed fans unfolded down the green rolling lawn before him, many sitting in chairs the facility staff had provided. Others filled in the gaps between trees and vending trucks, anywhere standing room could be found. He barely heard their clapping, all the cheering, the whistles. Much like at the stadium, he blocked it out, trying to focus on the task at hand, though he still hadn’t figured that part out yet. Not fully anyway. He knew what he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how he was going to get there.

When he looked up from the podium, for a brief second he was transported back in time. To those childhood sandlot games, when he swung a bat that was way too big for him. How they used to argue over balls and strikes, whether a tag had been applied in time. Legging out a double and just making it to the bag. Diving for a liner and coming up with grass stains on his jeans; his mom always hated that. Watching a game with his father on their black and white TV, and trying to understand the nuances of the game. Then, to the near past, to the stadium, positioned behind home plate. Armored in his gear and waiting for the ball, ready to make a tag. All of it—the stadium, the cheers, the memories—dissipated as a single voice resonated in his head, one that had haunted him since the day he met Keisha Green.

You think you’re one of us, but you ain’t. You hear me? You ain’t no Ghost.

When Dizzy MacLean said those words, he had sucked all the joy