Behold! The baseball has magically landed at my feet!
The leaves on the trees rustled in the wind, and fallen branches snapped as someone, or something ran through the woods.
“Hello?” I called, my voice a bit shaky. It was starting to pour now. My grandpa was long gone, probably napping on the couch, dreaming about his mysteriously important baseball.
Nobody answered. Whoever it was, they obviously did not want to answer. Or maybe they couldn’t answer. But if it wasn’t a someone, a something in that case, how could they throw a ball in the first place?
A person? A crook? Some rabid animal ready to attack?
I took a deap breath and made my way into the woods. I took a quick look around, just to make sure no one was hiding a bush, pointing a gun at my head.
“Anyone there?” I called, making my way slowly deeper into the woods. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
That’s when I stopped.
A single black, beaten up Chuck Taylor high top was sitting on the ground.
Behold! the first piece of evidence!
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