Next Goal Wins

When he got home from school, eight year old Jack Hall, changed out of his uniform, and as he usually did, grabbed his football. With the park being a good forty-minute walk away, he tended to play his ball-games out in the street he lived on. His dad called out for him to be careful and that he’d give him a shout when dinner was ready.  Jack kicked and dribbled the ball up and down the street, along the pavement, into the road, twisting and turning around imaginary defenders. Two empty drinks cans became the goal posts. 

It was almost time to go in, to join his parents at the dinner-table. He had time for one last shot on goal. His imagination ran away with him. Next goal wins, as they say. This one for the cup. 

He stopped running, placing his foot on the ball, stared at the goal. He imagined he was in the cup final, the crowd cheering and calling for him to shoot. He was about to take a swing at the ball when he felt a hand push him from behind. The hard shove on his shoulder almost knocked him off-balance. He turned, just hoping that it wasn’t some bigger kids, about to take his football from him. He turned to face whoever it was. 

He stared in confusion. There was nobody there, the street was empty and the pavements stretching away to the main road were deserted. Telling himself he must have imagined it, he finished off his football game, scoring the winning goal, in the dying minutes of the game, before scooping his ball up and hurrying back home. 

Jack had completely forgotten about the strange incident the day before, when he rushed outside with his ball the next evening. He kicked the ball down the street, and out into the road. Telling himself to be mindful of passing cars, he dribbled the ball out into the road. He soon lost himself in the game of football.

He dashed along the pavement, kicking the ball in front of him. He lost control of the football, and sent the ball bouncing out into the road. Lost in the moment, Jack followed the ball, and went to dash out into the road. 

Suddenly he felt something pushing him hard, shoving him backwards. He tumbled and fell back onto the pavement, just as a car raced down the road. The red Mini Cooper was just a blur as it screeched by. 

Jack slowly got to his feet, his hands and knees scraped and sore. He looked around to see who had shoved him over. The whole thing had happened so fast, the ball shooting off into the road, him being pushed over, and the car flying by. He was all alone in the street, nobody about, and nobody in front of him. And yet, he had been forcibly shoved to the ground, by what felt like invisible hands.

He was alone. There was nobody near him but he knew for certain that some force had pushed him to the ground.

A woman in her fifties came around the corner, her black Labrador pulling her along. She saw him standing on the pavement, looking confused and scuffed, close to tears. She asked if he was okay. Jack nodded. Yeah, fine, he managed. It wasn’t just the graze on his knee, but how it had all happened, that was what was really bothering him. It had really felt like he had been pushed over. Somebody or something had shoved him off his feet. The woman carried on walking her dog and was quickly dragged from view by her puppy. 

Still confused, Jack looked around, searching for answers. Then he saw it. He gasped. Standing across the road, on the pavement on the other side, was the apparition of a boy. Jack could see the outline of the brick wall of the house through him. It was as though he was there, and not there, all at the same time. He was around the same age as him, and carried a football under his arm. The boy smiled at him before fading away to nothing. 

Jack checked the road was clear, before dashing back home. Back in his room, he flicked through his comic-books and tried to forget about what had happened. 

The next morning, his parents were reading the newspapers at the breakfast table. His mother pointed to an article on the page in front of her.

‘Can you believe it’s been ten years this week since that little boy was run over? He was playing in the street, just here, wasn’t he? Ran out into the road, they say.’ She said.

‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ His dad said to him.

Jack simply nodded, saying nothing, looking out the window to the street outside.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom