The Tampa Terror

Part 8: Tom

At this point in time, attempted murder was entirely out the window. There was no way that I would be convinced to ever attempt that again in a million years. After the Canadiens and the Lightning banded together to prevent Gustav Nordin's death, I knew that trying to kill again would be virtually impossible.

I needed the Canadiens and Lightning to understand two things. For one, I had died a gruesome death while watching them compete. Secondly, I was not attacking them constantly because they were young hockey players. The main reason that I was targeting them was that I wanted to finally feel at peace regarding my death. The only way I could possibly do that was if I made the teams involved in my final memory suffer the same fear I did on that horrible night.

These messages, however, proved much more challenging to deliver than I had initially thought. It seemed as if everything I did to explain my situation went entirely unheard.
Regarding what to do next, I was utterly at a loss. Everything I had done thus far had been a total failure, and I was running out of ideas.

Then, it seemed like I had suddenly been blessed with a miracle. A group of players who figured out that they could see and communicate with me created an alliance to solve the mystery of what I wanted from them. Since getting my message across using actions had not worked, perhaps just talking to the only three people who were able to listen would.

**

The day after their alliance is made official, Cole Caufield, Carey Price, and Gustav Nordin corner me while I roam the hallways. They are accompanied by five spirits that eventually convince me to join them in an empty conference room. Two apparitions appear to be Native, and the group varies in age, so I cannot discern where they came from.

Carey Price clears it up for me immediately. "Tom, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Carey Price, the Canadiens' goaltender. from British Columbia, my home province, named Catie, Elias, Jane, Mikom, and Neebin. As humans, the other players and I don't think we're communicating clearly enough, mostly because you are a ghost and we are not. Aside from Cole, Gustav, and myself, none of the others can see or hear you. Therefore, I politely request that you at least attempt to have a conversation with my spirit friends. I have hypothesized that they will understand you more easily because you all share the common experience of leaving your lives and moving on to the afterlife. You can take however long you wish, and the other humans and I will leave so you can talk in peace without us interrupting or distracting you."

Honestly, I was not expecting such a kind gesture from the three players. I realize now how harmful my actions were. I am shocked that they are now treating me with such generosity after I terrorized all of them and nearly murdered one of them.

This entire thing could be one gigantic trap, although I am not sure what kind of trap it may be.

A death trap is unlikely because it is impossible to kill someone already dead.

I quickly realize that overthinking the situation is nothing more than a waste of everybody's time. So I politely wait for someone else to initiate the conversation. I was never the one to speak first when I was alive, and I don't see any viable reason for that to change because I am deceased.

Thankfully, the woman named Catie takes the hint and begins speaking. "Tom, I'm endlessly proud of you for agreeing to cooperate with us. But, unfortunately, I've heard through the grapevine that you've been causing some trouble this week."

I nod, bowing my head in shame. Her tone is enough to make me feel embarrassed by my actions. Catie must have been some sort of teacher when she was living because she certainly has the voice and face of one.

"I have been trying to deliver my message to them," I explain as Catie nods. "However, it's proven to be quite challenging because most of the team's humans cannot communicate with our kind. Plus, I don't want to get involved in any interaction with them. Their teams and their sport are what caused my death!"

The Native man, whom I remember Carey introducing as Mikom, wrinkles his brows at me. "What do you mean? Did one of the Habs or Bolts murder you? How are they responsible for your untimely demise?"

"I got hammered watching their stupid game," I seethe just from remembering it. "I tripped and stumbled into this monster who chose to pummel me to death as punishment for the crime of accidentally touching him. The game between Montréal and Tampa Bay is one of the last memories I made as a living person, and I want the Habs and Bolts to be very aware of that. I wouldn't have drank so much alcohol if there had been zero ice hockey games being broadcasted that night."

"Tom," Elias sighs disapprovingly after I finish my rant. "I don't mean to offend you, but you must take responsibility for your actions. You consumed alcoholic beverages while fully understanding the risks. As far as I know, nobody on the Canadiens or the Lightning pressured you to drink. You can say whatever you desire about relieving stress caused by the game. Still, the truth is that you drank something that alters your behavior and has dangerous side effects."

"We know that you getting unfairly killed by that insane man was not your fault, but getting inebriated was," Neebin adds, and Elias nods.

"Stop punishing these men and one woman for something they didn't do," Jane finishes the speech. I am beginning to be convinced by the statements she and her friends have made. "I don't know how stubborn you were in life, but you need to get it through your head that you were not forced to drink by the Canadiens or the Lightning. Also, the criminal who pummeled you fatally was not a hockey player, nor did he work for either of the two teams previously mentioned."

Like most people and other beings on the planet, I despise admitting when I am entirely or even partially to blame for something. However, these other spirits are making trustworthy points. I still have enough decency to admit that I may be acting too harshly towards two groups of people who did nothing to hurt me.

"Alright," I consent, and the others seem surprised at my willingness to agree with them. "I will cease my haunting of them. I will go to each locker room first thing in the morning tomorrow and tell the ones who can see and hear me that their nightmare is over. Hopefully, they will pass the newly acquired information on to their teammates who cannot communicate with the undead. Then, everything will be forgiven, and we can all go back to existing peacefully."

"I don't think that it's the smartest idea to communicate directly with the players after everything you have done," Mikom glares seriously at me. "You dangled one of the youngest over a rink and threatened to drop him to his death. So we suggest this instead: we will deliver the results of this conversation to Carey, who will talk to Gustav and Cole. Then, the three of them will make their own decision on where to go from there."

I want nothing more than to argue. I want to retaliate, lash out in my anger, and demand that the current plan be changed to match my interests.

For once in my life, though, I do not let my anger control me. As a result, I will be rational instead of freaking out and attempting to injure someone.

"That sounds like a perfect plan," I inform Mikom, and we share a pleasant handshake. "I am interested in hearing about what the human alliance will do when they make their decision."