Ghosts

Blaise jockeyed for position in the box as the Shrewsbury midfielder uncorked a shot filled with all his remaining power. He would clear the ball this time for sure if it rebounds again. Maybe, after this attack has been dealt with, the final whistle would finally save them from this misery.

While on the move, he looked on in close proximity as his keeper got a hand onto the ball before spilling it afterwards… sending it towards his general direction…

Chance!

Blaise moved his body at an angle to intercept the ball and send it away. But somebody else also forced his way through an instant earlier than him…

"No, you don't!"

Blaise tried to stretch his feet out to block the attempt to no avail.

The Shrewsbury stands exploded in glee, in sharp contrast with the pin drop silence of the traveling support.

"Goal!"

"Holy fuck! It's actually gone in!"

"We're level, mate!"

"My bet was right! I'm rich!"

"Fuck yeah! Take that, you Sheffield bastards!"

***

"I'm still not good enough yet."

Blaise Atkinson walked down the huge Sheffield Blades complex after returning there from Shrewsbury's stadium. It was already almost midnight, and he had received several texts from his father, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of wanting to do more football to calm his nerves.

He blundered. He knew it. At the moment he needed to deliver the most, he blundered.

It shouldn't feel this bad for Blaise.

During his later Nottingham years, blundering became the only reason he made headlines.

Like a fresh wound, he remembered scuffing a shot on an open goal in an FA Cup Final. He should've scored that. Especially after he magnificently rounded the keeper, and he's only a simple tap-in away from the goal…

It was even the fabled equalizer on second half stoppage time…

But well, he doesn't exactly remember the reasoning he had on why he blasted the ball instead of just tapping it in with a simple touch. The supporters standing behind the goal that watched the ball sail to them was rightfully resenting him for that debacle.

Because it cost them the game…

A powerful gust of chilly wind woke him up from his reminiscence.

"What am I doing here…"

Right as he was about to turn around and leave, he heard the loud clang of a ball hitting the crossbar from some ways away.

There's someone else here at this hour?

Despite his common sense telling him to not bother and just go home and rest after a tiring ninety or so minutes at the pitch, he still went for whatever made the sound. His tired legs ran faster than he thought he could right now.

Huffing, he reached one end of the training pitch.

A solitary player cut a sorry figure on the far side of the sodden pitch. A single flood light was on, enough only to illuminate that side.

Blaise couldn't help but want to join in, but he can't clearly make out who that figure was on the other side.

"He looked desperate, and young. Must be from one of the junior teams." Blaise watched from far away, as the player started from the left wing, and cut inside, seemingly dodging tacklers like someone was trying to stop him. Then, a few more yards closer, but still outside the net… he unleashed a worldie with his right foot. The sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was refreshing.

"That technique!" Blaise had seen that far too many times before to mistake it for anyone else. "It's that madman…"

Blaise went in, disregarding the fatigue he accrued throughout the day. He thought, well, Cameron is the type of footballer that would do things like this, to be fair.

Why not join in on the fun?

Cameron heard footsteps coming from behind him, thanks to the high of his adrenaline. Who the hell could it be this late in the night?

He picked up the ball from the net, not bothering to find out who it was. He thought maybe his fatigue had caught up with him.

"Cam!"

Cameron felt his body being taken over by goosebumps. He had always been a straight-laced, and serious person, but one of the few ridiculous things he believed in was ghosts, and supernaturals. No other soul knew that but him.

It was a cold, wet middle of December night. He's playing alone in one of Sheffield's training pitches with a single floodlight… and then there's footsteps… and a shout calling his name somewhere behind him…

'I don't even have a place to stay…'

Never mind that, just run first!

He had only managed a few yards, when an eerie hand tapped his shoulders. It sent shockwaves coursing all over his agitated body. He almost screamed.

Blaise was stupefied. What's up with this guy?

He almost laughed as the uptight Cameron froze, and seemingly got scared. "It's me, it's me! What's with the reaction? Are you afraid of ghosts or something?"

Blaise saw his friend heave a massive sigh of relief, like a deflated balloon, after ascertaining that the hand wasn't that of a ghost or a spirit.

Cam turned around, with his face returning to his usual, unbreakable, untouchable mask like nothing of note happened to him.

"Oh. I thought it was something else." He said those words with his usual poker face. "But fuck… what the hell are you doing here after a senior match? Do you want to die?"

"Something else? Like what? A ghost?" Blaise gave Cameron a teasing smirk. "Don't tell me you're—"

"Shhh! Screw you!" Cameron almost exploded. "Can't you just bugger off already?"

"Nope, you look lonely playing alone in this weather. Wanna play?"

Cameron stared at him, as if contemplating something. A few more moments of awkward silence, the youngster came back to his senses.

"Say, do you have an extra room at your place?" He asked with a deadpan expression.

Now that's a question out of left field. Blaise was confused about this sudden development.

"I've been kicked out of the house." He added without a hint of emotion one should have when they're kicked out of their house. "You know, they can't fathom their own son playing for the rivals of their club…"

What?

They kicked their own son out just because of that? Isn't that too cold fucking hearted?

Blaise now has an inkling as to why Cameron is out here playing by himself at the dead of the night. "So, you're about to stay here at the Sheffield complex to pass the night if no one comes by?"

Okojo is too steadfast and stubborn, and would rather bear all his burden alone than ask for any help. He'd always been this way in Blaise's past life.

"We have hot showers and free meals here."

This guy! Blaise didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Bro… you're actually serious?"

"Of course." Cam was staring at Blaise like he's an idiot. "But if you have an extra room, maybe I can stay there for the time being."

Blaise thought for a moment. "Can you pay for the room though? It's not cheap."

Cam flashed a disgusting, warped smile.