We at Samjoko Magazine would like to congratulate A.J. Chilson for winning the 2026 Raina Sullivan Horror Contest. We chose this story because of its originality for horror fiction. While all of the submissions we received were good, this narrative stood out because it felt less like a horror story seen before. Vengeful AI, robbers having the tables turned on them, couples stopping in a strange town, a forbidden lake, a bullied student getting revenge, a mourning parent. Unlike these horror tropes, A.J. Chison’s short story shows how horror can happen in the every day activity, which makes it most frightening of all.

Congratulations to all participants, and Happy Halloween!

FATALITY AT FIRST BASE 

Written by: A.J. Chilson  

I. 

It was a beautiful sunny day at the youth baseball park, with not a cloud present. No one could have asked for better weather, as the first game of the new season was to be played. The stench of hot dogs traveled from the concession booth to everywhere around the facility.  

I was very excited to play my favorite game. And the same could be said about my other teammates on the Ozzies. (Yes, the Ozzies was the name of my team. The coach, whom we called Big Jeff, was a huge fan of Ozzy Osbourne. He would even have the public address announcer play Ozzy’s song “Crazy Train” whenever the Ozzies took the field. This would drive parents and other fans wild.) 

The opposing team was last year’s youth champions, the Huskies. But everyone on the

Ozzies already knew one thing about that team. As with all youth sports teams, some of the Huskies players from last season had aged out of the league. They had new players, just like the Ozzies. The only question was: were the Huskies prepared for this game or not? 

The Ozzies were prepared; I’ll tell you that. Zach was going to be the starting pitcher, until he got stricken with the flu and had to stay home. That was no problem for Big Jeff, as he tapped me with the assignment, instead. And I was ready to go, having learned several different types of pitches during the winter. 

Once my teammates and I ran onto the field, with “Crazy Train” blaring from the loudspeakers, the question remained: were the Huskies ready? 

The answer quickly became a clear and resounding “no.” In the top of the first, three hitters came to the batter’s box for the Huskies. They each witnessed the same sequence. Curveball, strike one. Fastball, strike two. Change-up, strike three. Nine pitches, nine strikes, three batters, three outs, inning over. It sounds so easy, but it really takes a lot of practice to achieve an “immaculate inning.”  

It also takes practice, and some patience, to perform on offense. And I’ll tell you; the Ozzies, as a team, worked on those things leading up to our first game. In the bottom of the first, we loaded up the bases the hard way. A walk, a hit batsman, followed by another walk. The starting pitcher on the Huskies simply wasn’t on his “A” game. 

As I came up to the batter’s box, I said to myself, “Don’t make an out. Drive in some runs.” 

My mother yelled from the stands, “Come on, Johnny. Hit the ball.” This left-handed batter was going to try his hardest to make the opposing pitcher have a bad day. He certainly wasn’t going to disappoint his mother, or anyone else (except for the other team). 

In doing so, I almost tried too hard, chasing after a pitch that was far from the strike zone. But off the end of my bat, I hit a shallow fly ball down the opposite field foul line. As the runners tagged up, the left fielder made a furious charge. Due to light rainfall the night before, the field was still somewhat wet.  

With the ball coming back down to earth, the Huskies’ player dove for the ball. Yet it landed just barely in fair territory. The left fielder’s body fell awkwardly, sliding on top of his left arm. The sound of the bone snapping was heard by everyone at the ballpark, who then heard the boy wail in agony. 

Yet the ball was still in play, with all three runners scoring, followed by myself. It was not the way I wanted to hit a grand slam, but it gave the Ozzies four runs.  

Perhaps it was the sight of the injured Huskies’ player leaving the field in tears, that I kept myself humble. After all, it could have happened to me. Nonetheless, I didn’t think an injury this bad wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

II. 

The Ozzies added another run in the first, to make the score 5-0. Then, we were back on defense. 

My second inning on the mound was just like the first. The Huskies went down 1-2-3, only this time two of their batters put the ball in play. Both times, our shortstop Bryan fielded the ball cleanly and made perfect throws to the first baseman Mike. The other batter went down on

strikes. 

Similarly, the Ozzies’ second turn at bat was the same as the one before. Only this time, there was one out when the bases got loaded. That was important, since a double play would end the inning without a run being scored.  

As with the preceding inning, I had the opportunity to drive in some runs. But before doing so, Big Jeff came over to me and said, “No swinging at bad pitches. Look for the curveball.” 

That last bit of advice was one of the things I was new to learning when it came to baseball. Learning to wait for the curveball took a lot of practice. So, too, was me learning to swing my bat a bit lower, in preparation for a curveball.  

Now, as I had my second turn at the batter’s box, I would be more prepared than I was before. Facing the same pitcher as in the first inning, I avoided the first pitch, which was outside for ball one. Prior to the second delivery, I said to myself, “if it’s a curveball, swing low.” 

Sure enough, that’s what I got. And as if I had a golf club, I gave it everything I had with my swing. 

BAM! I didn’t just hit the ball, I clobbered the heavens out of it. That ball easily traveled over the fence in right field. But even more than that, it landed on the other side of State Line Road. That’s right, I hit the grand slam of all grand slams, from one state to another. And that was exactly how I wanted to hit a home run, as the emotional feeling was second to none. It brought parents and fans to their feet, and they were clapping and cheering me loudly as I circled the bases. 

III. 

Everyone knew then that the Ozzies would win this game, as we were up 9-0 after two innings. The question now was, would the Huskies score at all? No, and no. I held them in check in the third and fourth innings, striking out the side in both frames. I had a perfect game going, with ten strikeouts. 

But the Huskies had changed pitchers after my second grand slam, and he was better than the first. No, the Ozzies didn’t score in the third. Yet the heart of our batting order was waiting in the fourth. We knew that with one run this game would be over because of the mercy rule that was in place. By this point, shadows were beginning to be cast at the youth baseball park. This meant, if the Ozzies didn’t score in this inning, then the lights would most likely be turned on. 

A single by first baseman Mike and a walk to catcher Craig placed runners on first and second. Shortstop Bryan came up to bat, with the chance to drive Mike home with the gameending run. Even though he was a bit small, Bryan was one of the smartest and fastest players on the Ozzies. If anyone knew how to really play baseball, he was the one.

In the event that Bryan didn’t drive home the game-ending run, the following batter was at the on-deck circle. Who else would you think that the following batter was? That’s right! It was the one batter above all others that the Bulls feared. The one batter who was responsible for eight of the Ozzies’ nine runs, and had a perfect game going. Me!

When the Huskies’ relief pitcher delivered a belt-high fastball, Bryan was ready for it. He squared to bunt, and placed the ball perfectly near the third base line. It was right at a “Bermuda triangle” of sorts between the pitcher, catcher and third baseman. The catcher stayed put, while the pitcher at first tried to field it. But the third baseman beat him to the ball and rushed a throw to the first baseman. The ball sailed a bit to the right, in the direction of a speedy Bryan. Not even the outstretched arm of the first baseman could prevent what would happen next.  

Just as Bryan’s foot touched first base, the ball struck him on the back of his neck, below the helmet. To be more specific, Bryan was hit precisely at the bone that sticks out at the area in question. It is called the C7 vertebrae.  

As he fell to the ground, the ball bounced off into foul ground. Mike, the runner who had been on second, had already made it to third. Now, he was heading home. When Mike scored the tenth uncontested run for the Ozzies, I was the first teammate to greet him. That run meant the game was over. 10-0 was the score, in four innings. 

But the game would have ended, anyway. Bryan never got up, as his spinal cord was severed from the ball hitting the back of his neck. If there were any cheers from the run being scored, it quickly stopped. In its place was shock and silence by some, with others crying and needing hugs. Among those of the last group were Bryan’s parents. They were in disbelief, and understandably so.  

Paramedics soon arrived and carefully placed the boy in an ambulance, which then slowly drove away. The way in which that vehicle left the ballpark, a strange and unsettling feeling set in. Not only was I feeling that, but so was everyone else. Subsequently, we all returned to our respective homes, unsure of what was to come. 

IV. 

Long after the game was over, I was in the living room at my family’s home. It was dark outside, and I was eating dinner and watching television. That’s when the phone rang. My father picked it up. It was Big Jeff on the other line. The two talked briefly, and the conversation was very serious. I knew this was going to be bad news. 

After Dad got off the phone, he turned the television off and explained that news to me. “Johnny,” Dad let it be known, in the simplest way possible. “Bryan did not make it. He’s playing baseball now, up with the angels.”  

That seemed to make sense. By this point, I had a feeling that my teammate wouldn’t survive. The fact that Bryan didn’t move, the somber looks on everyone who was at the game, that said it all. Add to that the slow speed of the ambulance, and there was an eerie suspicion that the boy wouldn’t live. 

But even with that idea on my mind, I was still shocked to know he was gone. For me, hitting two grand slams and pitching a perfect game was, all of the sudden, meaningless. For a teammate was now going to be buried, at just 11 years old.  

The only words I could even say was, “At least Byran died doing what he loved.”  V. 

The baseball season went on, as they all do. The Ozzies won some games, and we lost a few along the way. But as surviving teammates, we never gave up. Because we all knew Bryan wouldn’t have wanted that for us. He wasn’t that way, and we weren’t going to quit, either. 

I ended up leading the team in home runs and had the highest batting average. I also had the most wins among pitchers and struck out more batters. In the season’s final game, I pitched a complete game shutout. Complete games and shutouts were also statistical categories of which I was the leader on the Ozzies. 

After getting congratulations from my teammates and Big Jeff, I spotted Bryan’s parents in the stands. They had kept on attending Ozzies’ games, despite their grief. And somehow, they cheered with as much enthusiasm as everyone else. I went over to them, presented the game ball to Bryan’s mother, and we hugged. 

She managed a smile and softly said, “Bryan would be so proud of you.” 

To that I replied, “Thank you for supporting us. It was hard for me to keep on playing, but I did that for your son.” 

Bryan’s father put his hand on my shoulder and, with a ton of gratitude, stated, “You did a great job this year. You’ve made everyone proud.” 

Nothing will ever bring my teammate back into this world, a fact in which everyone has been forced to accept. But to honor Bryan’s memory by playing my heart out, just as he did, it sure means a lot.