By J. M. Allison
His father’s demeaning taunts proclaiming Jordan would never accomplish anything rang in his ears as he approached Hole 18. It’d taken everything to get this far, but he remained in last place. He shook his head and feigned a confidence he didn’t feel.
“Almost there, Mouse,” Jordan slapped his caddy on the back and flashed a carefree smile, “A straight drive down the fairway, flop it over the water hazard onto the green, and an easy final putt. What’s the par for 18?”
Mouse clung to the tattered golf bag. They’d witnessed two caddies swallowed by the sand trap on Hole 7, and one golfer snatched by the Volkswagen-sized beetles roaming the greens on Hole 13. Mouse pulled out Jordan’s digital plexa-tablet scorecard with trembling fingers. Green text flickered across the screen. “No par listed for Hole 18. Just warnings to avoid the water hazard.”
Jordan nodded. The Professional Golf Association had designed this year’s tournament to be more exciting, and they’d not undersold it. Each hole boasted fantastical hazards designed to push competitors to their limits.
“What clubs do we have left?” Jordan studied the fairway before him. The markers noted the green lay over 300 yards away, and a crystal blue lake filled half of that distance. He preferred a 5 or 6-iron for a 150-yard drive, but he’d lost the 5-iron on Hole 5 fending off a very angry honey badger. And his 6-iron resembled a mangled pretzel after rescuing Mouse from the clutches of a six-foot crab residing in the water hazard on Hole 14.
“Just the sand-wedge, a 2-iron, and a putter.”
Jordan’s best option was to take the additional strokes and go around the water hazard, but who knew what lurked in the trees around the lake. The lack of information regarding this hole nagged at him. Four other golfers should’ve completed this hole before him. Each golfer’s score updated to the plexa-tablet as soon as they completed their strokes. But Hole 18 still listed nothing.
“Gimme the 2-iron.” Jordan lined up the shot. Just a light tap. He rotated through his backswing and followed through. His club made contact and sent the little pink ball soaring down the fairway. He held the swing and watched the ball drop exactly where he wanted it, a few feet from the water’s edge. He waited and watched, muscles tensed. All was quiet.
Jordan’s eyes darted from tree to tree as he and Mouse climbed into the battered golf cart. No chatting spectators lined the fairway. Even the birds remained silent as the cart groaned along. The front wheel gave an irregular thwump-thwump-thwump as they drove, arrows protruding from its deflated surface—compliments of the tribal apes rampaging through Hole 11.
Mouse parked and Jordan jumped out. He crouched by the ball and gazed over the lake. His eyes locked on the small patch of green at the far side with the white triangular flag snapping in the breeze.
Jordan took a deep breath and lined up his shot. He swung and sent the ball arcing over the smooth water. He grinned.
Whoosh! Water erupted high into the air. A giant purplish-blue tentacle shot from the lake, snatching the golf ball mid-flight.
Jordan stumbled backward, barely keeping his feet. A strangled yelp escaped Mouse as the caddy dove behind the golf cart.
Jordan’s eyes locked onto his ball. The new rules dictated he had three minutes to recover his ball and shoot again, or he forfeited this hole. Forfeiting the hole only benefited him if no other competitors managed to complete the hole. But if anyone managed to complete all holes, they’d automatically place above anyone with a forfeited hole. He couldn’t afford a forfeiture. He’d take an additional stroke to his score if he used a new ball, but the pickpocketing squirrels on Hole 10 had nicked all his spares. He couldn’t lose his last ball.
Jordan brandished his club. “Give that back!” He flung the club at the tentacle. The club bounced off the creature’s hard skin and fell into the lake.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Water splashed all around as several more tentacles broke the surface and a large arrow-shaped head rose from the depths. Jordan shrank back, realization dawning as to why no stats had updated for this hole. No one had managed to get past the kraken!
The creature screeched and waved its tentacles. Mouse raced toward him, brandishing the putter, urging Jordan to run for cover. Not pausing to think, Jordan seized Mouse by the collar with one hand and reached for the putter with the other. With a quick twisting motion, Jordan tossed Mouse into the lake.
Mouse squeaked before making a spectacular splash. Fast as lightning, a dark tentacle wrapped around him and hoisted his screaming form into the air.
Jordan leapt over the water toward the tentacle still holding his ball. His free arm and legs locked around the flailing appendage as he swung his club to dislodge his ball.
The kraken issued a series of loud clicks and snapped its beak. Its red eyes gleamed.
Jordan held on tight as the tentacle flipped back and forth. Mouse continued to flail and scream.
As the kraken swung him toward Mouse, Jordan whacked at the tentacle holding his caddy. The kraken released an annoyed bellow then flung Mouse toward the green. Jordan leapt after Mouse, utilizing the swing of the tentacle to catapult him through the air. A scream—part terror, part exhilaration—ripped from his throat. He hit the grassy green a jumbled pile of limbs, mangled putter clutched close.
Plop! A pink ball dropped in front of him, and he grinned at Mouse.
The kraken snapped its beak then sank beneath the water, sending barely a ripple across the surface.
Jordan pushed to his feet and lined up his putt. He grinned at the thought of his father watching the tournament highlights. His ball skittered into the hole. He wouldn’t be in last place now.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
absolutely marvelous!
Thank you! 🙂
This is why I always pay to upgrade from a regular golf cart to an M1A1
Exactly! Thanks for reading, I hope this story brought a smile. 🙂
What a wild game!