The 'Squash Surge' is coming - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Laden with snow, the streets of North Huron lay silent as council gathered - not in their fancy chamber, but in the flickering glow of their computer screens. The storm had made travel impossible, forcing the meeting online. Each councillor appeared in a small digital window, faces pale in the harsh light of their monitors, voices cutting in and out like whispers on the wind.
The discussion was routine at first. 

 

The fate of the racquet courts. Budgets. Sports trends.

 

And then Councillor Chris Palmer spoke. “I was feeling solid about this,” he said, his voice tinny and distant, “until I started reading the letters that came in, and the e-mails that came in.” 

 

Something had unsettled him. Something buried in the correspondence.

 

Councillor Ric McBurney shifted in his chair, his screen momentarily freezing in the weak bandwidth of the storm-choked connection. The dim glow of his monitor cast shadows across his face. “It just seems like they’re moving in on the squash,” he murmured. “That’s just my feeling.” Outside, the wind howled. No one asked him to clarify who they were.

 

THE FIRST SIGNS
For weeks, quiet murmurs had spread through North Huron; small, strange occurrences that went unnoticed at first. 
A forgotten racquet buried in a snowdrift outside the complex. 
A squash ball half-frozen in a slushy gutter, rolling slightly against the wind. 
The distant echo of a ball ricocheting off walls deep within the facility long after closing hours.
“It’s the Listowel players,” some said. The squash courts there had been closed, forcing enthusiasts to seek new ground. 
A logical explanation.
And yet… 
Some reports were harder to explain.
A custodian, working late, claimed she saw someone in the squash court after dark. A figure, moving with unnatural speed, striking the ball with perfect precision. When she opened the door, the room was empty. Just a single ball rolling to a stop in the centre of the floor.
Another witness, a staff member locking up for the night, swore he heard a rhythmic thud-thud-thud from the courts. When he checked, the room was empty, but the sounds continued. Behind the walls. 
Outside, the snowfall thickened.

 

THE PATTERN
Squash participation was not just increasing - it was spreading. 
New players appeared at odd hours, unfamiliar faces, speaking in hushed tones. 
“It’s just a game,” they said when questioned. “Just a game.” 
But the game never ended. 
Those who stepped onto the courts found themselves lost in the rhythm, compelled to return day after day. 
They spoke less of their lives outside the game. Their movements became sharper, more precise. They never dropped their racquets.
Then there was the ball. 
A single black squash ball had been found in the parking lot, half-buried in fresh snow. Nothing strange about that, until someone picked it up and felt it, impossibly warm, steaming faintly in the frigid air. 
It vanished later that day. No one admitted to taking it.

 

THE DECISION
“I can see usage happening in the winter,” Palmer continued, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. “But when it gets warmer… then what?”
Then what?!?!?
The staff report confirmed that squash does not pair well with the township’s plans for a multi-use space. The courts would be repurposed for pickleball, basketball and badminton. 
The decision was clear.
The council meeting grid flickered like a ghost joining a digital séance. 
Palmer leaned forward in his chair, his face briefly pixelating before the connection steadied. “It sounds like we need to make a decision now,” he said, but he did not sound convinced.
Deputy-Reeve Kevin Falconer, appearing slightly grainy on the call, cleared his throat. “I know it always happens this way - you only get feedback when you decide to make a change in something,” he said. Through the screen, his eyes darted as if something unseen lurked just beyond the webcam’s view.
The vote was cast. 
Pickleball is the future. The “squash surge” would be stopped, or so they thought, naively.
Outside, the snowfall did not let up.

 

EPILOGUE
There haven’t been any signs of the squash ball recently. Some say it has returned to the cold, dark vacuum of outer space.
Others suggest it’s simply waiting for warmer weather.