Exterior, an old and rickety mansion. Cobwebs cling to crevices that cover creaking corners. Of course, the night is dark and stormy. Lightning cracks through the air, breaking through the darkness to reveal glimpses of prying eyes from fauna and who knows what else.  On the front stoop, a slight figure approaches; we see him (we assume him because we’re still a patriarchal society lacking the enlightenment needed to treat all people with basic dignity) nervously extending a finger toward the doorbell with such trepidation that he’s trembling.  Just before he makes contact to officially announce his presence, the front door flies open to reveal a shadowy presence in the center of a massive foyer.

/CRYPT FLIES OPEN

WHO DARE DISTURB MY REST?

All I care to hear are the pitter patter of fleet feet from speedy wide receivers and booming punts from Ray Guy until my return–um, I mean until the afterlife disappears into nothingness. But I hear far more than that–I hear SHITTY KICKERS.

/Head swivels 180 degrees to reveal Eddy Pineiro dressed as a rotten peach with the letters I and M floating above his head like a Sim. He carries a small plastic pumpkin with two small bags of candy corn and a lone fun size three musketeers inside.

AD: Eddy Pineiro? What in the name of PF Chang’s are you doing here?

EP: Sorry, Mr. Davis, I was told that this house gave out king size candy and football secrets.

AD: SECRETS? YOU WISH TO LEARN SECRETS?

EP: Well, I guess just one secret–how can I not get yelled at by my coach?

AD: I think you know my advice on the matter, son. I can be of no more help than that, but why don’t you come in and take a respite from the storm, see if perhaps someone else can help you with your quest…

/CRYPT FLIES SHUT

EP: Dammit, Eddy, now you’re all alone in this creepy house. Wait, what was that noise?

Sup, numbnuts.  Happy Halloween.

EP: You’re here celebrating Halloween?

JC: Dude. I am way better at Halloween than you are at kicking.

EP: Harsh.

JC: Whatever. I hear old man decomposin’ tell you he can’t help you. I also heard what you said, but check this: you aren’t alone in the house.  Don’t you hear that?

:softly: /thud, clank

EP: Barely. What is it?

JC: Who knows? Could be nothing. Could be a chainsaw murderer. Could be your darkest fears. Could me K-Cav burning another book on vaccinations. All I know is I thought I saw a saucer of milk, so you’re on your own, dude.

EP: Aw, come on, man.

Catler slinks away, and as he turns the corner, Eddy Pineiro COULD HAVE SWORN he saw the former QB shapeshift into a lithe, apathetic feline. Pineiro gamely but gingerly traipses around the house, when he stops short and listens very intently.

:softly: /thud, clank

/DOOR CREAKS OPEN

Sup, numbnuts?

EP: Kevin Butler? Wait, didn’t Catler say the same thing?

KB: Eh, Maya Angelou quote and all,  right?

EP: Come on, man, be nice to me. You’re the franchise leader in field goals attempted, but you missed enough to not be close to the top in field goals made. You should understand what I’m going through.

KB: Like the last guy, DOOOOOON’T CAAAAAAAAAAAAARE

EP: So why are you here?

KB: Mainly to be a dick to you. But also because you should know, not everyone can hear that noise.

EP: What noise?

:softly: /thud, clank

KB: That noise, dingus. Only the truly tormented can hear it. And for those who deserve the most punishment, the real scourge of the football earth, they don’t just hear it. They live it. For the rest of their days. All the while, everyone else is oblivious–to their pain, to their suffering, to the infernal racket itself.

EP: Whoa.

KB: So you have three options. Start making kicks, stop taking kicks, or prepare to get kicked.

:louder: /thud, clank

EP: What do you mean “prepare to get kicked.”

/DOOR CREAKS SHUT

EP: What the shit? Where did he go? What did it mean? What does it all mean?

:louder: /thud, clank

EP: It sounds like it’s coming from the backyard….

Pineiro warily heads toward the back porch where the noise has grown as loud as the banging of femur drums in the nightmares of Spanoi. He squints, trying to see through the fog to make out the source of the noise, which now seems to be paired with a series of figures groaning and…are they kicking? No, they’re not just kicking….

:FORTISSIMO: /thud, DOINK, SPLAT

EP: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!  I don’t want to be tied to a goalpost and doinked for eternity! For the love of Finkle, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!