When I stuffed the case as far as it would go into my jacket pocket, I got up and shook the leaves off as though nothing had occurred. My heart continued to beat fast, but I made myself proceed in the direction of the court. The players hadn't budged much. They were standing blankly, as though they didn't actually see me.
One of them, a dark-haired guy with a dark hoodie on, spoke up. "Hey, you okay?" he said in a low but not threatening voice.
I nodded hastily. "Yeah… I just saw the ball go over into the bushes. Thought I'd see what happened to it."
He let out a little sigh, like he'd been too exhausted to go get it himself. "Thanks, man," he said, before running off to retrieve the ball.
The others hardly even flinched. They just stood there, waiting as though they were stuck in place. I didn't linger longer than necessary. My skin still crawled, and the heat of the case kept pushing against my side as though it needed all my attention.
I walked back the way I went, my head reeling. The further away from court I went, the more my thoughts escalated. Who were they? Why were they playing this way? Why did the ball always get jammed? And what was in the case?
I caught myself slowing my breath before I arrived at my apartment. I didn't want anyone to realize how shaken I was.
When I got inside, the corridor smelled as usual—dry and silent. I only looked in the direction of the court again. I walked directly to my room, closing the door gently behind me.
I only stood there for a minute, looking at the tiny case in my hands. My fingers ran over the cloth wrapping, experiencing the heat press back against my flesh. My heart continued to pound as if I'd have run a mile.
I sat on my bed and drew the case onto my lap. The material was old and subtly rough but tightly bound. Whoever bound it did not want it to come apart.
I wavered. What if it was bad to open it? What if it wasn't even for me?
But curiosity prevailed.
Gently, I untied the strings. My hands trembled just a bit. I unwrapped the cloth and raised the lid.
Within the pendant.
It was blue, dingy to the initial glance but reflecting the light in gentle sparks when I moved it. Bizarre markings wove across its length, turning and spiraling like living things, just beyond my fingertips. I drew one with my finger, but the metal did not warm.
I held it nearer my face. My eyes focused on the symbols, and for an instant I thought they would change—but it was just my imagination.
Though the room was cool to the touch, I sensed a gentle heat radiating from it, as though it possessed its own heartbeat.
I withdrew, my heart pounding.
"What the devil…?" I breathed.
The space seemed to shrink suddenly, as though the walls were closing in on me. My hand jerked towards the pendant once more before withdrawing.
I reached for my phone, half-considering a call to someone, but had no idea whom to call. No one would credit me with this. Even I wasn't certain what I was experiencing.
I set the pendant back into its case, covering it with the cloth tenderly, but I didn't knot the end. I wanted to hold it, keep it near me.
I put it in my drawer, beside my favorite basketball sneakers and a few notebooks. I could still feel it even through the wood. The heat never dissipated.
I sat on the edge of my bed, regarding the drawer.
A part of me wanted to just lock it up and hope it never happened.
But another part—the part of me that's always running after answers—wanted to know.
I drew my hand through my hair and sat back in the wall, closing my eyes for a minute.
Things from the court ran through my mind—the players with empty faces, the ball hanging frozen in the air, the way the big guy didn't even care about it.
Who were they? Why did they not make an effort?
And most of all… why did it feel like this pendant was encouraging me to open it?
I did not have answers. I did not even know whether I should keep it or discard it.
One thing was for sure, though.
It wasn't a typical night.