Where the Golf Balls Hide

“If I have to warn this damn kid one more time not to hit the ball in the same damn direction, I might lose it. I’m starting to think he wants to rack up a lost ball bill for his parents. Freakin’ rich pompous prick of a kid.” I sighed deeply, trying to keep my temper from hitting the top.

I know I probably shouldn’t be so judgemental and impatient with a kid, but when your whole life is worth less than their Limited-Edition Rolex, you start to get salty about things.

This job wasn’t supposed to be long term, but it was the only place able to offer me enough hours to keep up with rent right now. Being broke as a joke was not funny.

And this kid was really getting on my nerves.

Since I started working here, there’s been one corner of the green that every employee avoids. Thick wild brush and a swampy forgotten pond lay at the far corner of the property, and it was a much-dreaded chore to go retrieve golf balls from. Basically the last employee to go over there, never came back; or so the staff likes to joke. Ironically we all kept a tally board of who lost the most balls over there, and the season’s loser was the sucker who would have to go collect.

And who happened to get stuck with the spoiled brat on a mission? Me.

Who was going to lose big time and have to go collect stupid golf balls from thorny hell? Me.

Fuck.

“Kid, I swear to god, if you hit the ball in that direction one more time, I’m gonna’ snap.”

The kid just stared at me before bursting out with crocodile tears and I knew I was a goner.

~

“Freakin’ rich kids. Freakin’ Ronny. Freakin’ golf balls. Freakin’-“ Stumbling forward I caught my balance before hitting the rugged ground. I wasn’t taking any risks of getting poison ivy or leeches or whatever, so I had gotten all geared up in gaiters and clunky rubber boots. That didn’t stop the mangled roots from tripping me up. I could barely see through the mesh net hat, but I was glad I wore it because the bugs were swarming my existence. I hate this job.

I tried to work my fastest, collecting the stray balls littering the area, but I hadn’t expected this many to be here. When was the last time somebody even came back here? And did all the balls have to be so scattered?

I reached for a nearby golf ball lying on a bush but pushed it deeper in accidently. Freakin’ bushes. Reaching deeper into it, I tried to feel around half-heartedly. It’s not like anyone would notice one or two gone, right?

My gloved hand closed around something and I tried to pull up, but something wasn’t right. Golf balls aren’t this shape nor this heavy. Jesus, what’s in there?

I reached in again and grabbed hold of something that felt suddenly a lot more solid and pulled with all my might. The creak of hinges followed by the thud of my ass on the ground half covered in the damn bush was pathetic. How the heck does a bush lift like that? I’m glad no one was here to witness this sad attempt at my job.

Standing back up, I brushed myself off and glanced down at what looked like a tunnel in the ground; the trapdoor entrance lying on the now upside-down bush. An eerie feeling creeped up my spine as I felt like I was at the start of every bad rabbit hole movie. But like every terrible bunny film, I knew curiosity would take over and that I definitely was going to check this out.

Edging toward the tunnel, I removed my net hat so that I could peer in better. A set of mini stairs led further down, and I could hear the faint sound of… traffic?

Screw it, imma check it out.

Slowly, I climbed down the stairs, cursing at the tiny width of steps, until I hit the bottom. Turning around I saw what looked like light at an exit and heard a lot more commotion. As I approached the scene unfolding before my eyes, I couldn’t help but hold my breath.

I couldn’t decide how to feel.

“What. The. Fuck?” I finally breathed out and was so shocked by the absurdity of what I saw that I started to laugh. Doubling over in laughter, I howled away as traffic surely came to a halt.

Tens of little orange dudes all stepped out of these golf ball looking cars and gathered around me gazing curiously. They must have been one of the silliest things I had ever seen, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I might have looked to them.

“And who-the-golf-ball are you?” A squeaky little voice shouted at me from way below, as I saw more orange people coming out of golf ball homes. Suddenly it was like every golf ball in the world released an orange person. Did we really lose that many of them over the years?!

“Oh don’t worry about me-“ I wheezed from laughter, “I’m the guy who’s going to go look for a cheaper apartment. I quit!”

-

This short story was written for a writing battle that I completed last month. I was given a genre (lost world), a character (golf instructor) and an object (trap door). And so this is what I came up with! Wild.

I also need to note that this is the FIRST time I wrote a story (in my whole life) where NO ONE DIED! Victory!

This story was originally posted on Medium.com under my pseudonym Poet in the Arctic.