Tony Stiller drove his SUV along Pine Street, just outside of Orinda, listening to the local rock station, WBLX. The headlights cut through the night, revealing tall trees and shrubs along either side of the winding road. Sting was on the radio singing "Roxanne."
Tony had longed for a vacation for over a year now. He decided, on his first
vacation to drive to California from his home in Seattle. First, he visited the State Capitol, then drove south and visited the University of California. There, he went to the gift shop and bought a T-shirt with the CAL logo written across the front; he wore it now as he was driving. Tomorrow he'd be staying with an old college friend who now lived in San Francisco. A day or two later, he'd head for Monterey and stay with another friend from college. Depending on how he felt, he might decide to drive as far south as Bakersfield for a couple days, then drive home.
Tony thought of himself as an amateur photographer. He had been driving around the area for the better part of the day taking pictures of the sights, playing the role of the tourist. He turned the volume on the radio down as the DJ began reading the local news. As he turned a bend in the road, there was a sign on the right shoulder that read, MILLER'S PARK AND FIELD: 2 MILES. He drove past the sign, not giving it any thought.
"...In other news, the missing kids from Miller's Park and Field, just outside of Orinda, have still not been found..."
It was the news on the radio. Did he say what I think he said? Tony thought. He turned the volume up so he could hear it better.
"Both the Alameda County authorities and the Contra Costa authorities are asking for the public's help - anyone who knows anything about the disappearance of the twelve children a month ago while playing out in Miller's Park and Field...."
Tony remembered just passing the sign on the road.
He began looking out the car window for the park. He drove at least two miles and thought he had somehow missed it when suddenly he saw bright lights up ahead to the left of the road. First he noticed a large chain-link fence, then, closer yet, a baseball field. There were kids positioned around the field, all of them dressed in their street clothes. Presumably, they had a game going on. Tony decided to watch them play for a little while, so he pulled over on the right side of the road, parked, turned the engine off but left the key in the ignition and the radio on.
Tony looked out the side window while listening to the DJ on the radio. "I had the chance to speak with one of the boys' mother earlier today. Her name's Kathryn Haymaker. Here's what she had to say about her son - "
For a moment there was silence. Then she began to speak in between fits of
gasping. "My son's name is Bobby Haymaker. He is a very kind, sweet and
trusting boy. Bobby is only eleven years old... he will be twelve this month."
As Tony listened to the lady speaking on the radio he watched the kids playing baseball. All of them looked like they were the same age as Bobby was - around twelve years old. Taking an even closer look at them, Tony counted six kids in the outfield, one kid at first, one at second, one at third.... Counting the pitcher, the kid at bat and the catcher, that made twelve kids, all told.
"... Bobby was average in height and in weight for a boy his age. He was wearing blue jeans and a pair of white sneakers. He had been wearing a red, long-sleeved shirt. I made Bobby wear his blue sweater that night, so he might be wearing that."
Tony continued looking at the kids playing; then he noticed something about the pitcher that he hadn't noticed before: he was wearing a long-sleeved red shirt and blue jeans. He wasn't able to see if the kid was wearing white shoes or not.
"Bobby Haymaker?" Tony thought out loud, as he sat staring at the boy, who was just now winding up and pitching the ball.
The radio was silent and the DJ came on again. "Once again, I urge you to call the local authorities if you have any information about the missing children, or you can call our radio station here in San Francisco at 555-WBLX. All and any calls can be made anonymously - "
Tony took the key out of the ignition, cutting the radio off, and opened the door.
The light above the hood of the car came on for a moment, illuminating the brown leather upholstery inside the SUV, then he closed the door and the light went off.
He wanted to get a closer look at the kids, so he looked both ways for any
oncoming traffic, didn't see any, and began crossing the street.
There was a narrow dirt path leading up to a tall chain-link fence. He saw an
opening to the left and walked through. To one side of the batter's cage dugout which was now empty. On the other side of the fence were bleachers where spectators could sit, which were just as empty. The kids had flung their jackets and on the bleachers.
He reached the fence that closed off the dugout and leaned his shoulder against it - the chain link rattled from his weight and was still again. The kid who was the pitcher wound up was ready to pitch the ball, but then he stopped and looked directly at Tony. The batter, poised to hit the ball, turned around and looked at him also. One by one, each of the kids on the field turned to look at him until all of them stared at him.
The kid at the pitcher's mound ran up to Tony with his pitcher's mitt on and the ball still in his hand. "Hey, how's it going?" the kid asked him, looking up at Tony with a large smile.
Tony was thrown off by the kid for some reason, began to say some - thing, then changed his mind and said; "I'm fine. How are you?"
"I'm doing all right...now," the boy finished.
Tony suddenly felt an odd connection to the boy. He supposed it was the boy's openness and acceptance of him that made him feel that way.
"I didn't think anyone was gonna watch us play . . . at least not this game."
"Why not?" Tony asked. He felt compassion towards the boy now, like there was something soulful or spiritual about him that he liked. It was almost like seeing an old friend that you hadn't seen in a long time.
"This is our final game of the season, you might say. I guess it's kinda like the World Series, or something. What's your name?"
"My name's Tony..."
He trailed off and he was about to ask the boy what his name was (it couldn't
have been Bobby Haymaker) when the boy interrupted, saying, "Nice to meet ya, Tony." He turned around then and began pointing at the players in the outfield and introducing them to Tony. "That one over there is Brian, that one's Timmy, that's Peter, Patrick, Matt, and Jose. First baseman is Carl, second baseman is Terry, and third baseman is Steve. And the two over there," the boy finished, pointing to the kid at bat and to the catcher, "are Davey and Tommy. Davey's the one with the bat."
The boy turned back to Tony and said, "Hey Tony, it was nice to meet you, but we really gotta finish this game. Are you going to stay and watch?"
When Tony first arrived he'd expected to stay for 15 to 20 minutes. Now he didn't care if the kids played all night long - he'd still be here to watch them until thee game was over. For reasons he couldn't explain, he found the kids compelling.
He'd stay until the game was finished. "Yeah, I'll stay and watch."
"Great! I thought you would. I'd invite you to play with us, but like I read
somewhere in a book, each has to 'tend to their own.' In this case, each has to 'tend to their own game,' I guess." The boy smiled at him, waved and ran back to the pitcher's mound with glove and ball in hand.
Tony realized he forgot to get the kid's name, decided that he'd make sure to ask him before he left, and walked into the dugout and sat down on the bench to watch the game. There was an empty soda cup and some weeds growing out of the dirt where his feet were.
The kid pitched the ball. Davey swung the bat hard and fast, connecting with the ball. The ball flew over the head of the pitcher and out to center field. One of the outfielders - it was Patrick - began to run, flew through the air and reaached out with his glove, making a one-handed catch. All of the players, even the kid who was at bat ran over to Patrick, cheered and gave him hugs. After this show of support they turned and congratulated Davey on hitting the ball, cheering for him and giving him hugs as well. They all moved to different positions; Davey moved to outfield while Patrick went to bat.
Bobby (if that was his name) pitched the ball to Patrick, who also connected on the first swing. The ball went over the heads of all the players in outfield: a homerun. The players froze for a moment, then began to applaud Patrick as he slowly jogged around the bases. When he made it to home plate, "Bobby" shouted, "Game over!" They huddled together in a circle, and Bobby began talking in a low voice, saying something that Tony wasn't able to hear.
He was amazed at the amount of affection and selflessness the kids had for each other while playing. None of them seemed to have an egotistical or competitive bone in their body. They were playing for no other reason than the love of the game, and to have fun. It was as simple as that. At least he wanted to believe it was something as simple as that, but he couldn't. The whole thing seemed unnatural to him... impossible, even for kids who were close friends.  Tony got up and walked out of the dugout. "Bobby" ran to him and said, "Hey Tony, I wanted to thank you for watching us play."
"No problem; I enjoyed it. You guys are pretty good, did you know that?"
"Thanks," the kid said, smiling happily at him.
Tony now remembered to quiz the boy: "What's your name?"
The kid looked at him - still smiling, but now the smile had changed a little. First his smile was warm and friendly, now Tony thought it looked mischievous. "You already know it."
Tony gave the kid a peculiar look, his affection for the boy suddenly turning into something else. He thought it was fear.
The mischief in the boys' smile went away almost as suddenly as it came, but the smile remained, which made Tony relax. The boy said, "My name's Bobby."
Tony said, "It's nice meeting you, Bobby," and extended his hand.
The boy grew tense and took a step back. "We shouldn't shake hands or make contact."
Tony had no misgivings about that. He gave Bobby a steady look and asked,
"What did you mean when you told me that this was the last game out here?"
Bobby took a step closer to Tony, relaxed again and smiled broadly. "Well, during our last game, not all of us got a chance at bat. I think God let us have this one last game so that all of us could have our chance at bat."
Tony nodded his head as if this made perfect sense. "What happened at the last game to stop you guys from playing?"
Bobby looked as if he were trying to remember something, then just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't know. I can't remember up to when Brian hit the ball - he was the last at bat that night. All I can remember is that not all of us got to hit the ball, and that we didn't finish the game."
Tony smiled then and was about to say something when one of the other boys came running up behind Bobby and grabbed him by the arm. Tony tried to think of the boy's name but couldn't remember it.
"Hey Bobby, the other guys were thinking of a group picture before we leave.
How about it?"
"Ya, that sounds good," Bobby answered. They both looked up at Tony.
"Could you get your camera out of your car and take a quick picture of us,
Tony?" Bobby asked him.
Tony forgot that he even had his camera with him, and said, "Sure. Let me just go get it, ok?"
"We'll be waiting," Bobby said. They turned around and ran back to where the others were near the batter's cage.
Tony turned and began walking towards his car, then stopped.
Wait a minute, he suddenly thought. How'd that kid know that I had a camera in my car?
"Hey Tony - !" Bobby yelled at him from behind.
Tony spun around, and stood where he was. His eyes grew wide from shock. Out in the field, there was no one there. All of the kids were gone. It sounded to Tony like Bobby had been standing no more then ten feet from him when he called out.
He looked all around for where the kids might have run off to, but didn't see any place where they could be. There was no hiding place; just flat land and a few trees nearly a hundred yards away from the field.
"It's too late!" It was Bobby's voice again. It didn't come from any one direction, but from every direction. Tony looked all around but didn't see him anywhere.
"We had to leave. We finished the game and we couldn't stay. Take good care of yourself. I hope I'll see you again sometime!"
Tony waited, but he didn't hear anything else. It was done. He stood where he was, thinking about what he had seen. He tried to think if what he had seen had been real. Unsure of himself, he waited to see if anything else would happen. But the boys had seemingly vanished into thin air.
Tony walked back to his car. He drove off down the road, and was on the
highway headed for Berkeley again in just fifteen minutes. He decided that he'd cut his trip short and head back to Seattle first thing tomorrow morning. He felt uncomfortable visiting the area.
A thought crossed his mind as he drove along the highway at more then 70 miles an hour. He didn't really believe in the thought that crossed his mind, but still he couldn't just push it aside and forget about it, either. The thought itself seemed almost laughable. Almost. Either way, he decided to himself, I'll never say it out loud to anybody.
The thought that crossed his mind was that California seemed like a haunted state.