The Haunting

 

    It was a dark and stormy night. Not much moved outside in the city of Montreal, but inside it was a different story. Inside, where an ice rink should have been, was instead an iconic emblem...the one they'd all worn on their chests with pride...painted on concrete. Above, where once hung banners in tribute to a glorious past, a soulless cinema now entertained throngs who didn't know this place used to be a shrine.

    The spirits knew though. The wraiths still flitted within the walls where they earned their immortality, and lamented that they now lived there alone. They knew the ones who carried their torch had abandoned them, and they weren't inclined to follow..

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    It was December, and a special occasion. One of the old comrades would be joining them tonight.

    "Hey boys! It's been a long time," smiled the ghost of Bobby Rousseau.

    "Look who's here," shouted the Boomer. "It's the kid!"

    "Not so much a kid these days. I'm 85 years old."

    "No, you were 85 years old. Here, you're in your prime, kid."

    "Say, what happened to our old barn? I haven't been here since they closed the joint."

    "That was a night," the Rocket chimed in. "I thought they'd bring down the rafters, numbers and all"

    "Not much left of it now," sighed gloomy Jacques Plante, bent over his knitting. "Not much left for us anymore."

    "Yeah, but remember the fun we had, helping the new guys out," asked Gumper.

    "Shit, yeah! I was new here then, but it was a blast standing behind the 'tender in all those overtimes," recalled Bunny. "There was no way anything was going in that year!"

    "Where were you the night everything went in? The kid wasn't sticking around after that. Too bad. He was a real character," said Moore.

    Laughter and shared memories echoed among the ghosts of the old cathedral. They recalled the party when they brought home their fifth trophy in a row. The time the Rocket laid open Laycoe's head and punched out the linesman. The long nights on the train and the night the scoreboard dropped for the last time.

    In a moment of quiet, the Captain cleared his throat. "Okay, boys. I think it's time to go."

    "What?! Why now?! I don't wanna go! What about the ones who'll come to find us and we're gone?!"

    A chorus of protest burst from the assembled wraiths.

    "Phil and Kenny are here now, and most of the younger ones know all about the new place," explained Beliveau. "The future's over there, and the kids could use our help."

    More debate followed until finally, with a collective sigh the spirits agreed. It was time.

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    "See, it's not so bad here," encouraged Henri. "I mean, it's not really home, but watching the games is fun. We used to think Roadrunner was fast, but just look at these guys!"

    "What're the goalers wearing," asked Hainsworth. "They look like mummies out there."

    "Why do their sticks keep breaking like that," Morenz wanted to know. "Looks like they're made of glass."

    "I like that Caufield kid," said Joliat. "He reminds me of me!"

    "Can you believe that Hutson," Harvey marveled. "Look at him handle that puck! He's what I wanted to be, if I could have. I'm gonna give him a little help here."

    "What're you gonna do?"

    "Just watch!"

    (Harvey, invisible, low-bridges Marco Foligno at the blueline, wiping the player out and clearing a path for Hutson. Ref calls a tripping penalty.)

    "What the hell?! How is that a penalty? That ref must be blind," ranted Harvey.

    "Ah, don't worry about it," soothed Lalonde. "You know half the stripes need glasses. I'll try."

    (Mitch Marner cuts across the Montreal crease looking dangerous. Newsy Lalonde shoves Marner from behind, sending him flying. Ref calls a hooking penalty on Caufield.)

    "NO! That's not supposed to happen! What the hell is wrong with these guys!"

    "How're we supposed to help when the zebras are this bad," wondered Flower.

    Dryden piped up, "No more. The truly aggrieved is not the player or the team who receives the occasional unjust penalty. There’s only one but what about that matters..."

    "SHUT UP, KENNY!" the spirits chorused.

    "Are they actually seeing us and calling penalties on ghosts," Butch marveled.

    "Nope, they didn't" interrupted Red Story, calling from the back. "But I did!"

    "What's HE doing here," grumbled Toe.

    "Don't think I forgot about how you got McArthur fired, you old boot."

    "Come on! That was years ago. I can't even remember what happened!"

    Red Fisher laughed his gruff laugh. "They're gonna write it up to say the refs are calling "phantom penalties." Little do they know!

    Beliveau: "Okay, guys. The idea is good, but we have to be a bit more under the radar. We can't give the dummies (sorry Red) any reason to blow the whistle on us."

    "I'm gonna like this place," grinned Fergie. "I can be there the next time the big kid takes on a bruiser."

    "I can get in there on draws," offered Henri.

    "And I can help out in nets," said Vezina. "I don't have a trophy in my name for nothing, you know!"

    Beliveau smiled. "Alright, my friends. The ghosts are back! Just don't give the whistles any excuses."

    "Onward! Bring on 25!" the phantoms shouted. 

    The stragglers leaving the Bell Centre heard an echo that made them smile.