Plot Twist: The Game

Here's a new game. The idea is pretty simple: we tell a collaborative story, but in every post after the first, you have to include a PLOT TWIST and change the direction of the story. Let's see how crazy we make it.

I'll start us off.

***

Mark Simmons was up at bat. It was the bottom of the ninth, bases were loaded and the score was tight. It all came down to this pitch. He needed to hit it out of the park.

"STRIKE ONE!"

The first ball whizzed past him. He swore under his breath, and readied himself for the next throw.

"STRIKE TWO!"

He swung too soon. The ball flew by his bat.

This was it. The last pitch. He couldn't miss this one.

As the pitcher wound up and threw the ball one last time, Mark swung, hoping for the best.

CRACK

Instinct took over. Dropping the bat, Mark bolted and was halfway to second before he realized nobody was really trying to stop him. A quick glance around confirmed that nobody was chasing after the ball and most were just staring in shock.

He must've hit a home run! Given his ridiculously poor record to date, he couldn't really blame the others for their surprise. Wait, but that meant he... he'd won!

Jubilant, he rounded third, not really noticing his teammates' trepidation. Only when he returned to home to find them clustered around mumbling to each other did he realize something was wrong.

Coach Finnigan was telling everyone to stand back. Mark overheard someone on a cell phone mention something about an ambulance. Making his way around the crowd, he peered over his coach's shoulder and instantly recoiled in horror.

There, limp on the ground, bleeding profusely about the head, lay the body of Mark Simmons.

The stadium was in chaotic commotion as the curious crowd swarmed in the outside, barely kept there by the uniformed security. Ambulances, police cars, and reporter vans, all the vehicles were in harmonious disarray. The noise of questions and answer saturated the local streets as reporters attempted to hack information of out anyone remotely knowledgeable.

Mark stayed on the sidelines, slightly trembling at the circumstances of his own murder. This out of body experience was slightly creepy for him. Wait, how was he dead? Was his death an accident or a murder? If it was a murder, then who on Earth wanted his life bleeding on the sands? All these questions filled his brain to the brim.

Suddenly, an unseen figure gleamed into life in front of his eyes - a girl in white, completely white. Her dress, her hair, her sclera, her iris, her pupils, everything about her was white, and she was stumbling towards him, silently, dangerously. If he were not a disembodied spirit, Mark would wet his pants.

“Revenge,” the girl croaked between her ghostly lips and thick red liquid began to stain her appearance. Blots of red sunk into her clothes, bruises faded into her skin, and blood started to drip from every orifice of her body. This lady was freaking terrifying!

“Revenge.” Her purple lips smiled. “Soon, I shall get revenge.”

Before Mark could react, she leapt onto him, screaming and shrieking.