The Tampa Terror

Part 4: Lenna

"We won Game One, and soon after that, we were victorious in Game Two!" Steven Stamkos recounts to the players sitting in the Centre Bell's visiting locker room. "Who says that we can't win Game Three? Of course, it's not in Tampa this time, but does that matter? Let's put a stranglehold on those Habs!"

The other players, including myself, cheer for the captain. Steven always gives the most encouraging speeches to the team. I genuinely believe that we would never be able to win as much as we do without his encouragement and motivation. That is precisely why he is the captain of the Tampa Bay Lightning.

"Alright," Stamkos waves his hand to quiet the rowdy hockey players. "Before we practice, I must perform a headcount to ensure everyone is present. So, everyone, please sit in your assigned stalls!"

We all sit down rapidly at the request of the captain. He points his finger at each of us, mumbling a number each time his finger points at a new person. When he gets to the last player, Steven makes a concerned face.

"We are one shy of the number we need," Stamkos looks around the room nervously, then glances at the hallway. "Someone is missing."

There is a moment of silence before Nils Salvesen screams and jumps out of his seat. "It's Gustav! Gustav is the one who has disappeared!"

"Without warning...where could Nordin be?" Stamkos questions, scratching his head in confusion. "He's not the type to run off at the worst possible time."

"We need to look for him!" Nils gasps, clearly worried about his boyfriend. "Maybe one of the employees here saw him leave. He can't be that far away."

As if on cue, a janitor burst through the door. "Lightning, come quick! One of your players is...he's hanging from the ceiling! The strangest thing is that he appears to be floating up there by himself. Nothing is holding him up there!"

I grab Nils's arm to prevent him from fainting on me. His face is pallid as he sways and stumbles, clearly imagining the worst. I attempt to console him by telling him that the player hanging from the ceiling is not Gustav. It is another one of the Lightning. It has to be someone else.

Unfortunately, not everything we wish for in life comes true. When we arrive at the scene, Gustav Nordin is near the ceiling, squirming and screaming in terror. And oddly enough, he truly is floating. Nobody is holding him and forcing him to stay up there. Nor is a piece of his clothing caught in the rafters. He's just hovering near the ceiling, begging for his life.

"Gustav! Gustav!" Nils panics and tries to rush forward, but I grip him and hold him back. Despite his struggles, I prevent him from doing whatever he is trying to do. I imagine that he was about to try to literally climb up the stands and try to reach the ceiling, which likely wouldn't have ended well.

"Please, Lenna," Nils begs desperately, tears streaming down his face. "Please let me go. I have to save Gustav. If he died while I stood there and did nothing to prevent such a catastrophe, I would never forgive myself."

"Gustav will be alright," Victor Hedman assures Nils, who appears to be close to shaking apart. "He is going to survive. Look! The arena staff is bringing out a protective netting and a foam mat to catch him if he does fall."

Victor is not lying about the arena staff taking precautions to keep our young teammate from getting injured or killed. Several workers are placing another protective net slightly below the top edge of the one used to keep the hard rubber pucks from colliding with the fans. Inside the net lies a giant foam mat, which will catch Gustav if whatever is holding him decides to release him.

"Please help me!" Gustav pleads, and I notice that he is crying. "Someone! Anyone! Somebody is holding me up here, and they are refusing to release me safely!"

A Canadiens player dashes past us. I glance at Ryan McDonagh, who looks as confused as I feel. We have all confirmed that nobody is holding Gustav near the ceiling. Still, the young Swede claims that someone is doing exactly that and refusing to put him down without injuring or killing him.

"Lenna, he's probably hallucinating," Ryan hypothesizes. "Or perhaps he is suffering a panic attack. The only person up there is himself."

The Canadiens player who raced past us just seconds ago returns, stopping in front of me. He is not incredibly tall like most hockey players. In fact, he appears to be several inches shorter than me. He brushes his light brown hair away from his wide-eyed face.

"Your player up there," he signals at Gustav. "He said he's being kept there by someone you can't see. I hypothesize that he is currently being accompanied up there by a ghost who wants him dead."

The young man sees the confused looks on the faces of my teammates and me, so he explains in more detail. "I have only revealed this to Shea Weber and Carey Price, but I can see the ghost torturing our teams during this series. First, he made a chandelier fall and almost crushed me to death. Then, he held Nick Suzuki many feet above the ground like he's doing to Gustav Nordin right now. Then, he slammed me against a brick wall the day before we traveled to Montréal! I swear to you that this is the truth. I'm Cole Caufield, by the way."

"I assumed that," I look at him closely, and he looks back at me. "There's no other player on your team who is quite as petite as yourself. So anyway, you say there is a ghost haunting all of us? I suppose that would explain the unexplainable things that keep happening to our teams, such as Gustav somehow getting stuck near the ceiling."

He giggles at my joke about his height but quickly regains composure. "That's precisely what I'm saying. From what I gather, his name is Tom, and he's angry at our two teams for whatever reason. So he's been exacting revenge on us by frightening and bullying us throughout this series."

"You should have told everyone earlier," I say to him as I stand there, shocked. "You don't have to be nervous because we're competing against you. You're clearly stressed by this...Tom situation. We gladly would have put the series aside for a second to help you, Cole."

"It's not because you're the Lightning," Cole points out. "I didn't tell too many of the Habs either. I kept quiet because I thought that everyone else would dismiss my story and call me insane."

"You're not insane," I assure him as Gustav shrieks again. "There is clearly something supernatural afflicting us. Now that we are all aware of the ghost's existence, we can find out what he wants from us and why he is haunting us. Then, hopefully, he'll leave us alone, and none of the players participating in this year's Finals will be injured...or killed."