SHADOW MAN CHRONICLES (The Fulmer Curse) VOLume III
CHAPTER 1
Knoxville, TN
September 23, 2016
It looked so peaceful.
That was what Butch Jones was thinking, as he sat high above Shields-Watkins field and gazed at it, at its serene beauty, at its awe-inspiring magnificence.
He loved coming up here alone, to sit atop the press boxes at Neyland. To reflect on what events and circumstances brought him here to this point, to dream about where he and his team have yet to go, to just take it all in. It helped him clear his head, especially on nights like this, nights before big games.
And boy, was tomorrow a big game. And nowhere could he walk, talk, or exist - aside from this elevated oasis where he was sitting - without someone reminding him of the magnitude of tomorrow's contest. "The biggest game in his career," was a commonly-repeated moniker, "a defining game in the Butch Jones tenure," "make-or-break," and of course, the favorite of the anonymous keyboard warriors of the message boards: "MUST WIN".
Must win. Must. Win. Sigh, this constant building of pressure and tension was doing nothing to help his blood pressure. He could feel his cheeks warming up and turning an even darker shade of red than the one his face had come to always be since coming here to coach. I have to calm down. He could almost feel Barbara's disapproving stare coming at him from wherever she was, scolding him for getting worked up on a non-gameday. His doctor had told him he was gonna either die early or best case scenario, simply turn into a human beet if he didn't learn to stay calm on 352 days each year. Or 350, he liked to shoot back. Butch smiled inwardly, both excited and nervous at the potential of his current team. They were talented, though the injuries this year had already hit them right in the gut. But still, this team was special. But they had to get through tomorrow first. The Florida Gators.
When he was honest with himself, he knew that it really was a must win game for him. He had done a lot of good things here. He had built the roster into a strong one that was littered with playmakers. He had taken them from 5 wins to 7 and then to 9 last year. He had notched a few good wins along the way. But he had yet to beat Florida or Bama. And both losing streaks had been extended by three under his supervision. He had both foes on the canvas last year, but he just couldn't quite knock them out. And so now, here they were, about 15 hours away from kickoff for a game that would decide if the streak would be extended to 12 or be broken. And the fanbase's anxiety level was at a point that if they didn't win tomorrow, the screams for his head would start being very, very audible. And he was feeling the pressure of it.
He was starting to go over in his head his pre-game speech that he was planning to deliver to his team tomorrow when he heard whistling. At first he thought it was just the wind way up here. But then it started getting louder and more recognizable. It was a very familiar tune; someone was whistling Rocky Top. And it was getting louder, but Butch was looking around everywhere yet couldn't see anyone.
And then, the whistling turned into singing, and Butch instantly knew who - or what - it was that was coming. He had met him, or it, only one other time, but not really because he had never actually seen him, only heard his laugh. But Coach Fulmer had filled him in that night about the details of the supposed deal that had been made. That night was something that he had played over in his head everyday, and questioned himself repeatedly whether it was even real or not.
"Once two strangers climbed ol' Rocky Top lookin for a moonshine still. Strangers ain't come down from Rocky Top, reckon they never will." Shadow Man stopped singing but kept humming as he stepped closer to Butch Jones.
"Such a fun little ditty, don't ya think, Lyle?" Shadow smiled his usual wide, wicked grin. "Tell me; do you think that line means the two men never came down off the mountain alive? Or that good ol' Rocky Top is such a wonderful place that while there, it's impossible to remain strangers and not become friends? And therefore, there are no strangers that have ever come down from Rocky Top? Only friends. Hmmmm? What do ya say, Lyle? Here we are above Rocky Top in a way. Ya wanna be friends?" Shadow Man then began cackling a laugh so loud and so creepy it made Butch want to run as fast as he could to his family and hug them tightly, just to feel something warm and safe and good.
"Why are you here?" Butch finally spoke up.
"Excuse me?" Shadow replied.
"Why are you here? This is my place to come and be on my own and get my thoughts together. So why are you here? Say what you came to say; then leave me alone."
Shadow smiled again. "Well, Lyle, that's not my style. Hey, that rhymed." Shadow tittered.
Then, he went on, "If you're already breaking down and getting upset, you're not showing very much - um, what do you call it? - oh yeah, resiliency." Shadow barked out a boisterous laugh and started dancing around a little bit, obviously proud of his wit and enjoying himself.
Butch wasn't laughing. He was staring daggers at the Shadow Man.
"Oh calm down. I thought you were more of a high character individual than that." Shadow started giggling again. "Guess it's a process." Shadow howled, as he doubled over in glee.
This time Butch just walked over and stood there and stared out at the Tennessee River, until Shadow got it all out. He could just barely see the spot where he first learned about this individ-- Butch stopped himself. He's been using coach speak so long, it permeates his thoughts too -- This thing, whatever he is. Butch could spot where he first learned about this thing, this demon, this man in black, this shadow of a man.
Butch's mind wandered into a reverie about that night, and how he had rejected the whole idea of a curse, of some deal struck nearly two decades ago between this creature and a coach that hadn't been at the helm here for over 7 seasons now. He had not believed that he and his team weren't in control of their own successes or failures, had not accepted that there was some other-worldly force dictating the outcomes of their games. Indeed, he had even begun to think that the whole meeting down there on the riverbank had been something concocted in his brain that had been overwhelmed that night by a haze of what-ifs and regret and frustration after such a close loss.
Butch broke his blank stare , realizing it had grown eerily quiet, and he thought the man in black had finally left him, until he heard it whisper in his ear.
"I guess you heard Florida is playing a backup quarterback tomorrow." Shadow paused for a couple seconds, letting that statement hang there mockingly. "You know what that means, don't you? Number 12."
"Why?!" Butch exploded. "Why?! That deal was made so long ago. Why do you still feel the need to torture this program? Haven't you done enough?! Just stop. Please. Or tell me what you want from us to make you go away!"
"Your soul," Shadow replied without hesitating at all.
"What?" Butch questioned, thinking he must have misheard him, and expecting to hear another of his hair-raising laughs.
But Shadow wasn't laughing. His face was completely solemn, at least for a brief moment. Then he broke into a wide, mirthful grin. "Well, sorta."
"Sorta? Can you just get to it for once, instead of playing all these games?" Butch said.
"Well, you see, Lyle," Shadow began, "being the deal-maker I am and all, the only way I can call off the curse is for us to strike a deal. And being the gamesman I am, I am willing to make it a fun challenge of sorts. Well, fun for me, anyways."
Butch just stared at him/it. "Again, get to it."
Shadow chuckled. "Ok, ok, fine. Here it is, are you listening?"
Butch continued to stare.
So Shadow continued, "Everytime you are one yard or less away from a touchdown or a first down, you must line your QB up under center to run the play."
Butch was speechless. Was he/it serious? The next moment gave Butch the answer.
Shadow busted out laughing hysterically, barely able to stand he was laughing so hard. He reached out and put his slender, bone-white hand on Butch's shoulder to steady himself. "Oh....oh, Lyle, you should have seen your face just now. You looked terrified. I wouldn't ask you to do something so simple and obviously sensical, yet something you find impossible to grasp for some reason. Really, though, you'll have to explain the logic on that to me some day."
Butch knocked Shadow's hand off of him, leaving the spot where it had rested feeling somehow cold. And he waited for the thing to explain what it is he really wanted.
"Ok, for real this time, I offered this to Phillip, but he wouldn't go for it. Lane wasn't here long enough to be presented the offer, though looking at where he works now, he must have sold his soul somewhere along the way, am I right?" Shadow elbowed Butch and started giggling again, before realizing Butch's face was still serious. So he went on, "And Derek. Oh, Derek. His teams and performances were beyond saving. So no deal offer for him. But you, you have something really going here, don't you? And so here we are."
Shadow's face stopped smiling, and his voice seemed to drop an octave or two as he started his offer, "I want you to wager your soul. I will drop the curse, and you will be free to win any and all games on your own, with no interference from me. You just have to put your soul on the line."
Butch, showing his fear a little now, spoke up, his voice quiet and quavering a little bit, "how so?"
Shadow responded, "you just have to win the SEC title this year. If so, there is no soul-relinquishing, the curse remains broken, nothing happens. It's all over; I'm gone for good." Shadow stopped there for a moment to let it sink in. And then he started speaking again, but more slowly and ominously this time, "But if you agree, and then don't win the SEC this year, your soul is mine."
Butch was silent for a minute; then the silence stretched to two minutes, then three.
Finally, Shadow opened his mouth to ask again, but before he could make a sound, Butch mustered out, "I can't."
"What?"
"I said I can't." Butch said again, looking up at Shadow with tears in his eyes.
"Well, I don't know what to say, Lyle. I'm giving you an out here. I've seen how much you have poured into this program, your heart, possibly your life if you don't get that blood pressure under control, what's one more thing? You did hear me say the gators are starting a backup QB right? After all the trashtalk from down there, you're gonna just guarantee a 12th loss in a row to them because you're too afraid and too stubborn to risk something that you should be confident you wouldn't even lose anyways if you truly believe in yourself and your team. Come on, Lyle, you need this. I've heard the fanbase's and the media's grumblings already. They're restless. This is a must win for you, right? Come on, what do you say? Make this deal, coach." Shadow stuck out his hand, waiting on Butch to grab it and shake it.
After a moment of looking at Shadow Man's hand, Butch looked back up, tears flowing freely now. And he looked into the dark abyss of Shadow's eyes, and repeated, "I can't."
Shadow slowly reeled his hand back in, and said, "I see. Well, maybe the next coach here won't be so blind and weak and stupid."
Shadow sauntered over to the edge of the top of the press box, and without turning around to look at Butch, he said, "Appleby's gonna rip you to shreds tomorrow." Then Shadow sighed, and added, "see ya around.....stranger," as he jumped over the side and disappeared into the dark Knoxville sky.
Butch remained atop the skybox, still crying, and filled with such a deep emotional mix of sadness and anger and helplessness, that he didn't know if he could move or go home or get up in the morning or do anything.
He looked down at Shields-Watkins field surrounded by the enormous structure that was Neyland Stadium, and he tried desperately to soak it all in.
It looked so peaceful.
CHAPTER 2
Knoxville, TN
September 24, 2016
Halftime
Butch stormed through the tunnels, marching towards the locker room. Even though he was at least a couple hundred feet inside the tunnels and away from the field, he could still hear the boos of the angry and dissatisfied crowd in the stands.
And he couldn't blame them, really. That first half was awful. 21-3 Gators. They had dropped pass after pass after pass, and were making mistakes left and right. And Appleby, Florida's backup quarterback, was out there throwing dimes.
Butch thought he might throw up. And why not? This was probably the beginning of the end of his career. At the very least, the beginning of the end of his job here at this place he loved.
He was about to just steel himself and enter the locker room to talk to his team, when he heard that awful laugh again. He had heard it all night in his head, and in his dreams (what little sleep he was able to get); so it wasn't that surprising to him that he heard it now. But then he felt the coldness, and he saw the shadow pass in the corner of his eye, and he felt the presence of him/it standing behind him. Butch didn't turn around to face him, but that didn't stop the thing from talking to him.
"Mind if I DROP in for a moment, Lyle?" Shadow started. "I felt like my mission would be INCOMPLETE if I didn't ask you again if you wanted to reconsider my offer, or if you were content to just let it SLIP BETWEEN YOUR FINGERS."
"That's funny; are you done now?" Butch snapped.
"Sure, I'm done, Lyle." Shadow said, smiling the whole time.
"Good, 'cause I have to - "
Butch was interrupted with a loud crunching noise. He spun around to see Shadow eating a candy bar.
Shadow held it out towards Butch, offering it to him, "Butterfinger?"
Shadow started in again with that horrible laugh.
Butch's face turned a shade of purple, and seething, he turned and flung open the door of the locker room, and entered, slamming the door behind him.
Butch Jones was in the midst of his fiery halftime speech to his team when he looked up and saw a sign bearing the team's motto this year. It said, "OWN IT". Butch stopped speaking for a moment, and he just stared at those words on the sign. Own it.
A thousand thoughts and feelings were swirling inside of him. He felt like he could literally combust and cease to exist right then and there.
He quickly dismissed his players to go to their respective position groups for further coaching and game planning. But he stayed rooted to that spot and stared at those two words. Those five letters. Own it. And he knew what he had to do.
As the team exited the locker room to go back to the field for the second half, Butch Jones stayed behind. He reassured his staff that he would be along to join the team shortly, and that he just needed a moment.
After he was completely alone in the locker room, he announced, "ok, I know you're there. Show yourself."
He/it seemed to take form in the shadows in the corner of the room, and then he stepped out to talk to Butch, whistling Rocky Top, as he did.
"Has it ever seemed strange to you that one of the verses speaks of a girl who is half bear and the other half cat, which is of course weird on its own anyways, but also that you came here from Cincinnati, whose mascot is the bearcat? Is that not strange to you?"
"Listen, I don't have time for your games and riddles. Is it too late for the deal? I mean, if I take it, can we still win this game right now, today?"
Shadow Man smiled, a huge and terrible smile. "Oh Lyle, don't you tease me. Are you gonna take my deal?"
Butch raised his clasped hands to his mouth in frustration and impatiently responded, "JUST...just please tell me; if I take it, can we go out there and whip these loudmouthed Gators, and not have you messing us up at every turn?"
Shadow simply nodded.
Butch took a deep breath.
And they both stood there for a few seconds, looking at each other.
Finally, Shadow spoke up, "so what's it gonna be, Lyle? 'Cause I gotta get on down to the plains and mess with this LSU-Auburn game. You're gonna love it; Les is finally gonna get -"
Shadow stopped talking, as Butch had just abruptly turned and started walking towards the doors.
"Wait, was that a yes?" Shadow asked insistently. "Are you taking the deal or not? Are you putting your soul on the line?"
As an answer, Butch reached up to the sign above the doors.
And he touched two words. Five letters.
MY ALL.
THE END.
