A Dynamo Story

Every now and then I get the itch to try creative writing and I got it bad this week. So I decided to try writing about something I truly enjoy and love - the Dynamo. I would like to give a tip of the literary cap to Fuzion, who's story earlier somehow led to this story. No, I don't understand how my brain works either. So for your reading enjoyment (I hope) -

A Dynamo Story

The game was over and most fans were already on their way home. One figure made its way toward the stadium rather than away. Sheltered in a black hooded robe, no one seemed to notice as the figure passed by. As a small group of fans approached, the hooded figure withdrew slightly further into the shadows and listened. "The defense was good but Will should have buried that header." "Yeah, but it was good to see Cummings get on late." "How about Clark, he …" and the voices drifted away as the group passed.

The hooded figured listened intently and nodding slightly, continued on hugging the shadows. More fans passed by headed for the parking lots, heedless of the dark figure among them. Approaching the fan zone, the figure paused for a moment before continuing around the stadium.

"This is Glenn Davis and the Dynamo Call In show. Let me hear from you the fan – what is your opinion of the game? We’ll be taking your calls after the break". Suddenly Glenn felt a wave of cold and looked around. It felt vaguely familiar but as quickly as it came, it was gone. Corey Ashe and Adam Moffat, signing autographs, paused briefly as they too felt the cold wave. Giving himself a mental and physical shake, Glenn continued, "Ok, we’re back. John, you’re on the line. Tell me what’s on your mind."

The hooded figure continued on to the players’ entrance. Silently and unnoticed, the figure passed through to the dark boot room. There it paused, examining all the boots. Nodding, it started toward a particular row.

"Stop! Get away from there!" Dom Kinnear appeared in the doorway. Stepping forward, he turned on the lights. Immediately the hooded figure withdrew to the far corner. "I know what you are. Who sent you? You won’t get away with this!"

A distant chuckle came from the hooded figure. "Many have tried. I see that this is a bad time, I will return later."

"No, I want to know who sent you!" Dom threw himself at the hooded figure. But it was too late, the figure faded through the wall.

"Dom, are you ok? What’s going on?" Wade and Steve ran toward Dom, who was futilely pounding on the wall.

"It was here." Dom walked over to row of boots that had drawn the hooded figure’s attention. Nodding his head, "Yes, Frank was right."

Steve and Wade walked over to the row of boots. "What was that thing and what does Will’s and Gile’s boots have to do with anything?" asked Steve. "And what was Frank Yallop right about?" asked Wade.

Sighing, Dom leaned against the wall. "It’s the Goal Thief, the Zielghul. "

"No, that’s just a legend." Wade replied, looking apprehensively at the boot rack.

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, looking at both men as if they had suddenly gone mad.

"The Goal Thief. Rumors of its existence began right after the rules of soccer were codified. Many believe the Goal Thief is the vengeful spirit of a man who’s severed head was used as a soccer ball in the 1700s. Anyway, the Goal Thief feeds by sucking the scoring ability from a player’s boots. That player will be unable score, no matter how easy the chance. At first, the Goal Thief would only feed on a player for a couple of games before moving on to another team. But in the 1970’s, a manager in Brazil was able to capture the Goal Thief and use it to his team’s advantage. The Goal Thief would suck away the scoring ability from a player on another team and give some of that ability to a player on the manager’s team. The Goal Thief eventually escaped but from then on, it has worked for anyone willing to pay its price."

"So, whom is it working for?" Steve asked. "Magee, Di Vaio, or McInerney?"

"It doesn’t necessarily have to be a striker. A defender or goalkeeper who is tired of being beat could have hired it." mused Wade. "But what does Frank have to with this?"

"Frank was suspicious about Wondo’s suddenly scoring drought. He was sure it was the Goal Thief and asked the Quakes front office for more security. They thought he was crazy and the next thing you know, he’s out as coach. He called and told me to be on the look out, but truthfully, I thought he was crazy too. But then Will and Giles stopped scoring and that pk in Montreal …" Dom’s voice drifted off.

"But won’t it move on now that you discovered it?" asked Wade.

"Maybe, maybe not. It depends on who sent it and for how long." Dom replied.

"What happens if it doesn't leave Will and Giles alone?" asked Steve.

"You know Pajoy at DC and MacDonald at Chicago? That’s what could happen." Dom replied dourly.

"Oh gods, no. We’ve got to stop it!" exclaimed Steve.

"How do we do that?" asked Wade.

"I don’t know, I just don’t know." sighed Dom.

The three men stared at each other. Then a voice came from a figure standing in the doorway, "I know of a way to stop the Goal Thief and I have a pretty good idea who sent it."

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