Halloween Feature: Night Golf
I hadn’t played golf since high school and knew I’d be way out of my league in a threesome with budding law partner Matt and
Dr. Dave. They both owned custom-fitted clubs. Still, Night Golf sounded more appealing than my insurance adjustment gig. And it was fun until the zombies came out of the rough.
Matt connected solidly on his backswing with
an undead whose rotting head flew back about ten yards. The body tottered then crashed forward, just missing Matt as he bent to pick-up his tee.
“Looks like a clean approach to the green. Nice one,” Dave said. The arc of the Pro V1 was like a red Technicolor tracer into the darkness. I shifted my gaze from the still twitching body, to the neon golf ball kicking down the center of the fairway, back to the zombie head rolling to a stop,
an oversized coin, eyes open. Then blink—closed.
The guys holstered their clubs in their bags and climbed into their golf carts.
“C’mon, Preston. We have to go dig you out of the rough. Shake a leg.”
Dozens of shapes loomed along the perimeters of the country club. Holes two to eight were an island to themselves on this side of Bradley Blvd. Residential lights twinkled on the fringes. I shook my head, this couldn’t be happening. Maybe at Congressional but not here at Kenwood.
“You remember when we cut Benson’s English Class and played a round?” Matt said, grinning. He slammed his cart into gear and took off.
Dave blew beer through his nose. “Oh my God, that was the best.”
“That was 12th grade guys,” I said. I’d been at Whitman with them until my alcoholic father forced me to transfer high schools my senior year.
Dave ignored me, jerking the wheel of our cart sharply to the left, so I felt more than saw that we’d collided with another walker
. Remnants oozed down the windscreen.
“Everybody else went to Carderock or Widewater, but we’d sneak in here and play 17.”
“Never got to play the last hole. Always had to sneak off or get caught at 18.”
“Preston’s slice is in the woods there,” Matt pointed. Dave stopped the cart and I got out.
“I don’t see anything,” I said. My voice pitched a little high. I needed another beer.
“It’s in there all right,” Matt said. “About ten yards that a way.”
I swatted at some brush, but I didn’t dare focus my eyes on the ground. I constantly scanned
the woods for movement. Luckily there was a full moon, so it wasn’t as pitch dark as it might have been. I heard a nauseating crunch and was afraid to turn my head. I could hear the guys laughing. Maybe Dave had taken out another zombie with his Taylor Made driver.
My ball was blinking orange, nestled near (more…)
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