The dream is always the same for him.
Rylan is seven again, his hands clutching a stuffed animal, and his small body running as fast as his legs can carry him. Behind him is his "mom," transformed into a terrifying creature, running after him.
He's reliving those first moments of experiencing the curse. And this time, his Mom's not going to save him.
The halls are endless, as he runs around the house trying to escape. Just keep running, he thinks. No matter what happens.
He can still hear the loud pitter-patter of his mom's scramble after him, her hands and feet hitting the floor with increasing intensity. She's catching up, and he doesn't want to look back.
Whenever this dream comes up, he tries to do something different to fend off his possessed mom before she can attack him again. But nothing ever works. As he hits another corner, he thinks of something, anything to get this thing away from him.
But no matter what he does...or what he thinks...he ends up back there.
His childhood bedroom. The place where he hid to protect himself. It's like his body is being forced to repeat the same actions. He hid under the bed, hoping his mom hadn't seen him there. Clutching onto that stuffed animal... waiting for his mom to crash into the room.
It's this part of the dream he can't escape. If he could just do something different other than run into this room. But no matter how much he begs for it all to change...it all stays the same.
The door breaks off its hinges as his "mom" finds her way in. Rylan doesn't even have the willpower to scream or even cry.
"...Ryyyylan...where did you go...?" she asks, her voice sickeningly sweet. It's using her voice time after time, and he's not falling for it again.
Rylan freezes, trying not to draw attention to himself.
"... Don't hide, okay? It's time for dinner..." she calls out for him.
...He hears the sound of his dresser being moved. She's starting to get antsy.
Pitter pattering... over to the closet she goes, the bones in her body popping and crackling at every move she makes. The doors once again are pulled off their hinges, and his clothes are thrown across his bedroom floor.
"I'm not going to hurt you Rylan...all you have to do is come out."
Rylan still doesn't move. He can't give away his location.
The figure stops moving. Its head swivels around, scanning the room. There's just one more hiding spot it hasn't checked yet.
With slow movements, it begins to lean down towards the floor. "Are you hiding... under here?"
The figure reaches out and grabs his ankle, pulling Rylan out of his hiding spot. It's game over.
The last thing he hears is the loud screech of the creature before—
He screams, jolting upright. His skin is clammy, and his breathing is harder.
He's on the couch. Wrapped in a blanket. The TV is playing some weird infomercial about... something, and sleeping in her chair, is Nana Lori.
...They must've fallen asleep watching TV again. Despite him hating sleeping on the couch, he feels strangely comfortable, and he doesn't feel like moving.
He takes a look at the clock. 3:26 AM. He has a few hours of sleep left if he can get it. He gets back comfortable under the blanket and waits for his mom to wake up. He's never told his mom about the dream, because... how could he? It puts his mom in a negative light, and she doesn't deserve to be seen like that.
"She didn't mean it..." he mutters to himself, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. "She's fine now. It was just...her slipping. She's fine. I'm fine."
However, he can still hear the screeching in his ears, and the phantom pain around his ankle.
No, he tells himself. This thing is just trying to make me scared of my own family. I'm not gonna fall for it.
He slowly sinks back into the couch, ready to go back to sleep. He's not letting it affect him. Especially on the day of the game.
He pulls the blanket over his shoulder, and turns over on his side, facing the back of the couch.
He's only going to think about the game today. Not the curse, not school... just the game. The only thing right now that stabilizes him.
He looks down at the family journal in his bag. For the last two days, he's been searching relentlessly for answers. If only he could understand all that cryptic language. He's only gotten around to reading a few of the diary logs left behind by his ancestors, and everything describes the same thing—a tall, lanky, void black creature with tendrils coming from the back of its head.
He still doesn't have a name for it though. And the book isn't helping any, either.
... I'm thinking too hard about this. I need sleep. This game today is important, and I can't mess up because of this thing...
He turns over to look at the infomercial. Maybe it'll bore him back into slumber without the curse causing any more problems. Just as long as he wills it away, the curse can't mess with him...
...Right?
***
As his mom drives up to Errock Perry, he already sees a flock of students finding their way into the school before the bell rings.
His mom stops at the gate, before unlocking the car door. She gives a warm, encouraging smile. "Alright Ry, have a good day at school. Text me if you need anything, okay? And don't worry about the game... I'll know you'll do great."
"I will," he mutters, grabbing his bag and slipping on his headphones, playing the next song on his playlist.
He hears her drive away and continues his slow walk to the school's front door.
Should I head to my locker first, or go straight to homeroom and get my stuff later?
He looks around at the large amount of students filling the halls. He won't be able to get past these people and get his locker open without being late.
But just as he's about to turn towards his homeroom class, he hears a few gasps and whispers from behind him. He takes off his headphones to listen to what all the commotion is about. He's being pushed against the wall of lockers as the sea of students splits open for...something.
Someone's coming through the door. Tall and broad-shouldered, his long, twisted hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. He is wearing an army combat uniform, and carrying a large duffel bag full of his school supplies and equipment. On his jacket, in big black letters, is his name tag "Oakeman".
The name makes him stop. Oakeman? As in that Oakeman?
But it can't be him...
Devon "Chokey" Oakeman, the highest-ranked cadet in Errock Perry's JROTC department, is known as someone who commands respect without even speaking a word. And there's a reason to respect (or fear) Chokey. The JROTC kids respect him for being a strong and reliable leader. The other students fear him because he's large and intimidating, and the fact that he could probably crush your windpipe with his palm if he wanted to. One thing's for sure, you do not want to get on his bad side.
Rylan isn't scared of Devon. Wary, maybe, but not frightened. They're confused for each other more often than you think, actually, being both darker-skinned, taller boys that always have a less than stellar expression on their faces. Every freshman he's come across this year is terrified that he's gonna break their necks until he reminds them, "Wrong guy. I just play baseball."
However, that's not why Rylan is confused. Didn't they say that Devon...was dead?
Right. A couple of months ago. They said Devon had passed away sometime during the summer because of some freak accident in basic training. They even had a moment of silence.
Devon's getting closer to where he is. Time to test something. When Devon gets close enough, Rylan reaches out and lightly taps out his skin. However, Rylan did not take into account Devon's seriously high awareness and reflexes. Before he can pull his hand back, Rylan can feel the death grip of Devon's hand around his wrist, iron-tight, painful. He tries to pull away, but Devon's hand tightens with the strength of a vice.
"Are you trying to mess with me?" Devon snarls, narrowing his eyes. "You wanna lose this hand?"
"Not really...?" Rylan mutters, feeling Devon's eyes pressing down on him with the pressure. A bit of a cold sweat runs down his brow. "I kinda...need that, you know? I was just—"
"Wait a minute..." Devon says, slightly loosening his grip. "You're that Banks kid. The one they confuse me for."
Rylan carefully pulls his hands away from Devon's grip, still feeling the pressure of it long after he's gotten away. "Yep... that's me..."
Devon tilts his head a bit. "You don't look like someone bold enough to mess with me...what's with the tap?"
Rylan hesitates, his nerves squirming with unease as he notices Devon's piercing green eyes bore into his. He can feel the eye twitching violently underneath the bandage, frantically clawing for attention.
"Well, you know," he says, shifting nervously on his feet. "People were saying you were...dead. Had to make sure you weren't haunting the school or...something like that."
"Yeah, I've heard the rumors. Learned about it from Cadet Osborne this morning." Devon snorts a short laugh, a rough, dry sound erupting from the back of his throat. "Even if I were dead, I wouldn't want to haunt a place like this. Not this dump..."
"Fair enough," Rylan mutters back. "I guess, all I want to say is...good to see you back...?" he says, his lips curving up into a half-smile, his nervousness showing through his voice.
"Yeah. Try that shit again, Banks, and I'll make sure you'll never need that hand again." Devon warns, turning on his heel and splitting the sea of students as he walks to his homeroom class.
...What a guy.
What was that? Rylan thinks to himself, shaking the pain from his wrist. Is he alive? Dead? Was that entire conversation just...a figment of my imagination?
There were no flickering lights, cold air, no subtle indication that Devon was a ghost at all. He couldn't be a hallucination from the curse either, not when the other students of Errock Perry could see him too.
He remembers the sharp, iron-tight grip, the warmth of life. That bone-crushing strength, that was definitely too strong to ignore. Maybe it's just some misunderstanding...
Rylan shrugged his shoulder, as if to say, nothing to do with me...but of course, before he could get back to his own business, a certain nosey blonde had to stick her nose where it didn't belong. He could hear her high-pitched whiney voice, calling out his name as she ran closer. "Rylan! Wait!"
Rylan groans inwardly. One of his favorite songs was playing too...
"What is it now?" he mutters, pulling the headphones around his neck.
Arianne crosses her arms. "Did...did you speak to Devon? I was trying to push through everyone, but they're all so stupidly slow, and I missed him!" she pouts. "I wish he would slow down, but he's so...punctual! Ugh!"
"Why are you interested? Are you trying to join JROTC, or...?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I wouldn't be caught dead in that classroom," she sneers, "it always smells like sweat and old leather boots...I wanted to talk to him because he's so...cute!"
Rylan tries to remind himself of the person he just talked to. A six-foot-tall juggernaut that literally almost crushed his wrist? Not exactly the poster child of the word cute. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy?" he asks incredulously.
Arianne nods enthusiastically. "I mean...look at those arms! And that piercing stare..."
Rylan stares down at her with a look that says...Are you serious about this?
Arianne then says something...interesting. "And what about that time he got lost at camp...and he came back completely unscathed? Ugh, I just think he's invincible—"
"Wait, you mean this isn't the only time he's disappeared?" Rylan cuts her off. "The hell happened that time?"
Arianne pouts. "Well, I wasn't supposed to tell...I promised my cousin that I wouldn't..."
Even when she says that, she purses her lips as if forcing herself to keep quiet like she can't help but spread rumor and gossip. Rylan raises his eyes as if to ask again.
Suddenly, the dam breaks, her lips pouring out a story. "Okay, okay, but you didn't hear this from me! Sooo, my cousin and Devon went to boot camp the summer before last, and he was gone one morning. All of the camp counselors and the other people in the camp were freaking out and they sent a search party...and when they came back, he was just there. My cousin said he was eating a pack of M&Ms, too!"
She turns to Rylan, her smile brightening up the entire hallway. "My cousin says he eats those out of the MRE thingies all the time. I'm gonna get him one of those party bags before the game, and then we can eat candy together!" She seems to squeak with excitement as she bounces on her toes.
Rylan shakes his head. Even if he tries, he knows that he can't stop her. "Whatever you say," he mutters, looking at the clock. If he goes to class now, he can make it without being late. "I'm headed to class now... have fun with... whatever."
He turns on his heel and walks off, slipping his headphones over his ears.
She tries saying something to him, something about putting in a good word for her. Rylan turns up the volume, not really interested. The melody and beat strumming through his body allow him to think a bit more clearly. Yet, something seems to nag at his brain.
What got mixed up with Devon? Was it just a rumor spread too fast? Is he dead? Alive? ...Is the curse messing with me again?
He can't stop thinking about how vivid the curse's visions have been getting. He's been seeing more twisted visions of his family members, alive and deceased. More eyes have been appearing on his skin, in harder-to-hide places. His dreams, like the dream he had last night, have been getting more...creative with their imagery. It's gotten so bad that he doesn't even know if Devon is just a hallucination, a dead man reanimated by the curse to torment him further.
Rylan just barely manages to get to homeroom before the tardy bell rings. He slips into his chair, sitting in the back of the classroom, before quietly pulling out the family journal. He's been skimming through it, only taking notes if needed. Besides, the curse really seems to enjoy looking at itself on paper.
The paper is yellowed, brittle, and coarse. Aside from the terrifying depictions of the curse reaching for family members and frantic, psychotic writing, there's actually some interesting information in there.
Some of the words are too small and curly for him to read, but he gets the gist of the passage he's reading. Something about a mirror, a shadow of one of his ancestors stalking and preying on them. The entry reads:
Thursday, August 9th, 1923
For a split second, I could've sworn my mirror showed me differently than it should've. It was another night after the speakeasies. Just getting home, and ready for bed. There was always this...thing about the mirror in my bedroom...as if it makes the air heavier. My darling Layla seems to like it, but something about it sets off alarms in my head.
Just this night, I could've sworn something moved in that mirror that definitely wasn't there before. I turned around, but nothing was there. Maybe I just had too much to drink tonight. Must be my paranoia trying to tell me something.
Benjamin Banks
Rylan squints in confusion while he flips to the next page.
Tuesday, September 4th, 1923
I've been hiding away from myself recently. I noticed something in the reflection of the drinks I've been having recently. Could it have been the alcohol? Maybe, but I usually don't have the same drunken hallucination twice. Not ones where I'm disfigured with eyes all over my face like that.
I've been seeing it in that mirror, too. And when I look away or blink, I'm back to staring at myself. Normal.
This mirror is cursed...I'm sure of it.
Once again, the entry is signed by Benjamin Banks.
Rylan flips to the next page again.
Friday, September 7th, 1923
My reflection is not the same anymore. Everywhere I go, there's no mistaking it. Eyes everywhere on my face. They're not a normal color either. A deep purple, yet despite that, I still seem to smile.
I shattered that stupid mirror ages ago. I thought it would end these...visions and nightmares. But I still see it. In my drink. In my steak knife. In Layla's eyes. It's the same damn creature. Me, covered in eyes, smiling. It's mocking me, whatever it is. It's smiling and laughing when it's not a damn joke anymore.
I'm looking at myself in the bathroom mirror now. There's something black smudging it, and I'm afraid to touch it.
Am I going crazy?
Benjamin seemed to be too shaken by whatever to even sign his name underneath the entry this time. Rylan seems a bit unnerved now. It's like watching a man be driven to complete insanity. But still, he reads on.
The next page seems to be the last entry from Benjamin, and what happened to him doesn't look good. The pages are smudged and almost destroyed, covered in inky blackness and fingerprints. Benjamin's writing is almost illegible, scratchy, shaky, and frantic. As if he didn't have much time to write.
Wednesday, September 12th, 1923
I've destroyed every single mirror in my home. I can't drink another drop of anything unless I want to see that thing. It's taller than anything I've seen in my life. And that purple eye. Looking around in my house. Looking for ME. I've locked myself in my room, only coming out to get food from Layla, and using the bathroom.
It doesn't need that mirror. It doesn't need anything. It exists just because it can.
I've been seeing a doppelganger. It acts like me. Talks like me. SMILES like me. Like it knows me. And no one else can see it but me. It taunts me by mimicking. Grins when I'm forced to look at myself. I see it everywhere, in public. And it tells me everything about myself that even I don't know. It tells me it's always been there. From the very beginning.
It's not the mirror that's cursed here. It's me.
The entry continues to the next page. As Rylan turns it, it's more messy, even more frantic.
This creature won't leave me alone. It's knocking. It's rattling the doorknob—
...The pen seems to...drag away off the page after that cut-off. Rylan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, a cold sweat running down his face. He was so absorbed in the journal that he almost didn't hear when his name called for attendance.
"Rylan Banks?" Mr. Armine calls, his voice stern, yet familiar.
Rylan blinks away the fog, before raising his hand in the air. "Here..."
Mr. Armine nods his head, checks his name off on the list, and continues his roll call.
Rylan's eyes return to the open journal. What Benjamin was describing was everything he was experiencing. And the line going off the page doesn't mean anything great either. That can only mean even worse for him down the line.
The seat beside him is pulled away from the desk, and then a figure slumps into it.
Why sit back here? Rylan thought to himself, mentally scolding the person next to him. There were plenty of seats that were empty in the front of the class, so unless someone meant to have a conversation with him...
His eyes dart over to the seat this figure was sitting in.
A taller, lankier man wearing a leather-colored suit and a matching newsboy cap. Pouring into a cup from the bottle in his hand is the same liquid void. The man raises the cup to his lips, and takes a small sip, nursing it as he begins to speak.
"He was the first one to deny that I exist, that one," the man muttered, the eyes on his face splitting open the skin of his cheek. "I gave him all the hints in the world and he still blamed it on his drinking."
...Rylan doesn't say anything as he tenses up. He can't, not unless he wants to look like he's gone mental. This is Benjamin, or at least, the curse mocking him with Benjamin's face.
"...I've always liked the way your family wrote in this journal of yours. Every once in a while, I go up to the attic to read it and have a laugh or two."
The man walks over, standing behind Rylan's seat and leaning down. It flips through the book as if looking intently for something. When the doppelganger finds what it's looking for, it stops, letting the pages spread open. "And this picture. I've always loved your peoples' depictions of me."
The picture is ominous. A large crowd of silhouettes, faceless shapes, being huddled together underneath the arms of the curse. The paper is blotched with ink as if mimicking the tar that taints their bloodstream.
"Why are you showing me—" Rylan's sentence is cut off by shock, as when he looks up, the doppelganger is gone. For now.
He looks back at the journal, searching for answers on the dark, blotchy page. That's when he sees something he didn't notice before.
In scratchy, large, dark letters is a name. Or part of it. Some of the blotches cover up majority of the letters. But it's better than nothing.
He'll have to ask his Nana about this later.
***
Lunch was just as unassuming as usual. A slice of pizza and fries, just greasy enough to fill up the stomachs of the students of Errock Perry.
Rylan sits at a table by himself, scrolling through his phone and reading the texts he missed while he was in class. Suddenly, someone slams their palm onto the table, pulling his eyes from his screen and to their face.
She was a girl he didn't really know that well. All he knew was that she was a part of the elusive Supernatural Club, and she wore this really ridiculous cow hat that could basically be seen from anywhere. Not only that, the chains she wears on her shirts and pants seem to talk more than she does. "Rylan Banks, right?"
"Who's asking?" Rylan answers.
"Ravana Nicholls. President of the Supernatural Club. I just have a few questions," she pulls out her notebook, which is covered in stickers from Death Note and other horror anime...
"...Okay?" he tilts his head, tossing one of the fries into his mouth. "Is this an interrogation?"
"Something like that..." she responds, opening up her book. Inside are notes of every "mysterious" person the Supernatural Club has their eyes on. And one of those people listed...
Ravana shows him the page she made for him. "I looked into your family's past...looking up stuff in obituaries. Mysterious deaths..."
Rylan stiffens up mid-bite, his face scrunching up. "You did what?"
Ravana doesn't break her almost stoic expression. "Calm down, I didn't find anything that wasn't public record...and rumors."
"Oh yeah, what kind of rumors?" he says, his tone sharpened.
"Something about your mom and grandmother disappearing...and you living alone..."
"Now, that's just a straight-up lie..." Rylan says, pointing the fry in his hand at her. "My mom and grandma are fine. Spoke to them this morning."
"Then what isn't a lie, Banks? You love denying just about everything. You think your silence is just this...shield that makes you immune to anything gossipy." Suddenly, she's scribbling in her notebook again.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he mutters, throwing the rest of his tray into the garbage. "Flattered you think I'm 'mysterious' but...I'm not really ecstatic that you decided to pry into my life at home..."
He sits down in his chair again, looking at his phone. Occasionally, he'll look up to see her scribbling. It only makes him roll his eyes even more.
"So, what's so interesting about me that you have to tell your weird friends about it?" he says, slouching in his chair and fiddling his fingers.
"It's the fact that no matter the season, you're always wearing something that covers up your arms. Seriously, it's 78 degrees outside, you're not dying in that thing?" she asks with skepticism.
"No," he sighs, "it's called air conditioning. All of my classes are cold."
"Excuses..." Ravana rolls her eyes. "Fine, keep dodging my questions, then. I'll just figure it out on my own," she mutters, slamming the notebook closed. With a sudden movement, she's on her feet, and walking away, the sound of her chains ringing alerting some nearby students to her presence.
"Yeah, you do that..." he calls after her, his brows furrowed with frustration.
When she's sure he doesn't see the horns of her hat in the lunchroom, he pulls back his sleeve, where, underneath the cuff of his jacket, an eye reveals itself. It shifts to look at him, with what seems to be enthusiasm.
"What?" he mutters, his frustration mounting. "What's got you all excited?"
He hears himself say, with a taunting, mocking voice, "She'll be trouble for you. Better watch out." The eye squints even more as if smiling.
Rylan pulls his jacket sleeve back over his arm, hoping no one else saw the eye perched on his forearm. "That might be the first time I've ever agreed with you."
Despite his calm expression, he is anything but. Not only is she curious about him, and has dug up stuff about his family, she's onto something. And if he's not careful, the curse may get all the attention it wants.
***
The game is a few minutes away. The locker room smells of grass, the pregame lunch's lingering aroma, and the gloves' leather. The air is filled with competitive energy as Rylan's teammates hype each other up for the win.
Rylan pulls his uniform over his body completely concealing any mention of the curse from the eyes of the audience. He makes sure there would be no way someone could even notice something under his jersey. After his self-inspection, he pulls his cap snugly against his head and heads out to join the rest of his team.
He watches as some of the boys greedily pick up one of the extra lunch boxes, and scarf down whatever's inside. He shakes his head with a disappointed smirk. They're gonna puke that up later...
Rylan hears the indistinct channel of the crowd as students, teachers, and parents start to fill the bleachers. The stadium lights start to set a bright glow on the diamond below. It's almost game time.
He can see some of his classmates scattering the crowd. As usual, some are wearing orange and purple, lots of pom-poms from his teammates' moms, and...a cow hat.
Yep. Sticking out like the sore thumb she was, was Ravana, obviously poking around in his business where she didn't belong. Writing in her notebook as usual. And with a seat close to the batter box, too...
"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered in anger, throwing his arms up in exasperation. How the hell did she even get a ticket?
Jason suddenly startles him with a clap on the back. "Hey, Ry-Bread. Doin' alright?"
Rylan throws a piercing glare towards Ravana. "Just peachy," he growls.
Jason looks where Rylan's piercing glare landed in the crowd. "That's who you're mad at? That girl with the cow hat?" Jason asks, squinting. "Actually, now that I look at her...she's kinda cute..."
Rylan jabs Jason in the stomach with his elbow. "Cut that out, man...pay attention."
Jason lets out a soft "oomph", rubbing his stomach where Rylan elbowed him. "Ow, man...calm down, I was just joking around..."
"She's following me. Don't know why, but apparently, I'm 'suspicious' enough to be the next project for her club." Rylan narrows his eyes further at the girl, who's writing something in that notebook of hers. "And I don't trust her."
"Ohhh..." Jason drags out, a hint of gullibility in his eye. "Okay, now I get it."
He gives Rylan a teasing, lopsided grin. "Looks to me like you have a not-so-secret admirer. See, I told you," Jason smirks teasingly. "If you stick with me, you could probably get any girl you'd want in here."
The sharp sound of Coach Daniels' whistle cuts through their conversation, pulling Jason away to huddle up with the rest of their teammates. "Don't worry, Rylan. I'll be your wingman. Trust me."
Rylan scoffs. "Sometimes I forget why I even talk to this guy..."
He falls behind, taking one last glance at his appearance to make sure the eyes aren't peeking out from his sleeves. He tugs at them, makes sure his collar is pulled up and pulls on his cap further on his head.
After a somewhat intimidating but empowering speech, and a bit of a cheer from the entire team, the game finally starts.
Rylan grabs his bat, the polished tan wood gleaming underneath the stadium lights. He flips it a few times, mostly to calm his nerves, but also to entertain his audience before the real game begins. The crowd starts to cheer as he steps into the batter's box.
He looks to the pitcher of the opposite team. He's definitely lankier than the rest of his team... but he has a look in his eye that tells Rylan he knows what he's doing.
Rylan readies himself, his bat pulled back to swing as soon as the ball leaves his hand. He's not going miss. Not the first pitch of the game.
The nervousness is gone, but it's replaced with an even worse, nauseating feeling. That feeling that something else is watching him. And it's not someone in the audience.
He looks back up. There are spots of purple...everywhere on the pitcher's skin. The eyes. On his arms, his neck...his face. And they're all staring at him.
Come on, not now. He groans inwardly at the curse, a cold sweat starting to form. He's staring right at me, too.
All the eyes are locked on him. Those purple, blinking lights all over the pitcher's skin, and he has no choice but to pay attention to it. Not unless he wants to get this game to a bad start.
The pitcher's arm winds up in a blur, but Rylan is well prepared. The ball jets towards him, and he takes his first swing.
The sharp crack is all Rylan needs to hear before he runs off as fast as his legs can carry him. He's running...
The darkened hallways come into view. The sound of pitter-pattering coming right behind him. The bed he hid under for safety, only a few running footsteps in front of him. If he slides under, he can make it.
He takes that chance, dashing and sliding under the bed, until...
"Safe!" he hears the umpire call. He's awake. He smells the grass. He can feel the scratchiness of the dirt where he slid. He's at first.
He cautiously looks around for anything strange. The pitcher looks as normal as a frustrated teenager can be. There's no one else in the crowd of the stands that looks...off. It's normal.
If the curse keeps messing with him like this...
It's going to be a long game.
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