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Game 164: Indians vs. Rays

"Dammit, Jim, you know I hate coming down here." The static response from Daniel's radio echoed through the dark bowels of Fenway Park as he descended the final flight of stairs, further unnerving the security guard. "This had better be good..."

It wasn't just the eerie location that was throwing Daniel off. It was the initial message from Jim. He didn't know what it was about his coworker's transmission that had struck him He just knew that it wasn't quite right.

With a flare of light--something like the last gasp of a dying man--the lone lightbulb at the end of the passage, around a corner from the distant illuminated stairs, flashed out. Uttering a curse, Daniel fumbled for his flashlight, finally finding the button that dispelled the darkness surrounding the door to the utilities room--really more of a closet--that Jim had called him to.  Shaking off his momentary panic, Daniel pulled the door open and stepped through.

As he did so, something caught his foot, sending Daniel tumbling to the cold concrete below.

"God dammit, who leaves a--" Daniel's complaints caught in his throat. A low moan--more of a rattle--escaped. His flashlight had clattered to the ground, revealing what, exactly, had tripped him. It was Jim. Part of Jim. His face frozen in terror, everything from his chest down vanished in the inky blackness that consumed the floor.

Daniel tried to run. The door was so close. If he could just will himself to rise--

The blackness took him.

From deep within Fenway Park echoed a sound. Humanity has no word for it, but in the mind of its creator it might be considered a laugh. Perhaps even a chuckle. His time was nearing. The Aceves rose.

(Go Indians!)