Three Strikes And You're Out

The newspaper proclaimed "Baseball Suspended After Players Disappear".  Their teammates claimed to have seen a "ghostly pitcher" striking the missing players out before they vanished.

No self-respecting ghost buster could pass that up.

At the ball field, there were players standing around trying to figure out how to reclaim the field so they could resume their games.  They were willing to pay a bounty to rid themselves of the specter.  Excellent.  That's how I make my living.

I borrowed a bat, and stepped up to the plate.

An image formed on the mound.  A tall drink of water.  Looked like a fast baller, not that it mattered.  Haunts count on a secret edge.  Counter their edge, and they're yours.

He sneered his message.  "Three strikes, and you're mine.  A hit, and I'm gone."

"OK", I said.

"Play ball," from behind me.  Ah, the edge.  An umpire on the pitcher's side.

I was taking the first pitch no matter.  "Let's see what this guy has" is the old baseball adage.

"Strike one," the umpire hollered..

A slider that dropped and almost hit the back of the plate.  Hmmm....

I took a swing at the next one, but to no avail.  It was a fast ball so far outside that I'd have needed a telephone pole to hit it.

"Strike two," from the umpire.

"Would you let me try one more time?" I asked.

"Bad luck," laughed the umpire.

The wind up, the pitch, and here came his curve.

"Ouch," I cried as I leaned closer to the plate and took it on my arm.  "He hit me!"

"But, but, but," struggled the empire.  "Oh, all right.  Take your base."

The local players cheered, the spirits departed, and I pocketed enough to pay my rent for a month.