The final round

The 18^th fairway of the old Ashtown Hollow Country Club golf course was more like a meadow now, with tall fescues, yarrow and Black-eyed Susans growing wild. The paved cart path was still there near the thick woods lining the hole, although time and weather had caused it to crack and crumble.

Still, one could find plenty of clues to its golf past; there were many stray balls and even a few lost clubs to be discovered by anyone with the time and inclination to search for them.

The course had been closed for 10 years, and what was left had been hastily renamed Ashtown Hollow Park. It was envisioned as part wildlife habitat, part family gathering spot, but little had been done to facilitate the latter.

“Looks like the green – or what used to be the green – is about 200 yards up ahead,” Seth said. “What do you think we’ll find this time … more of the same?”

Chip chuckled at the thought.

“You know there’ll be some new photos and fresh flowers,” Chip said. “Maybe some used up candles, too. Photos, flowers and candles are staples of makeshift memorials.”

When the country club folded, the reason given was that the company behind it was pulling funding to “pursue new growth opportunities.” But Seth and Chip – and anyone who lived near the course – knew that was just a convenient cover story.

A decade earlier, a foursome had been brutally murdered on the 18^th green, hacked to death by someone wielding a machete. The crime took place at twilight – when most players had already gone to the clubhouse for libations – and there were no witnesses. It was assumed the killer had been hiding in the woods and lying in wait for the unsuspecting golfers.

The greenskeeper at Ashtown Hollow was questioned but released after just a few hours, and police were unable to identify any persons of interest.

News of the massacre quickly spread, and a once lively golf course devolved into a morbid curiosity and ghoul magnet. Instead of requesting tee times, people would phone the clubhouse in hopes of securing directions to the 18^th green to see where the “Phantom of the Green” struck.

But with the killer still on the loose, golfers soon abandoned Ashtown Hollow and scattered to other courses. They were replaced by sleuths and thrill seekers who made annual pilgrimages to the scene of the crime.

“Where are Tam and Grady?” Seth asked. “I thought they were right behind us.”

“They’re always draggin’ ass,” Chip said. “They’ll be along soon enough, I’m sure.”

Once Seth and Chip reached the green, they noticed plenty of new tributes, along with a picture of the greenskeeper who never escaped the shadow of suspicion.

“Ugh … I wish these true crime junkies would leave that poor guy alone,” Chip snapped. “Dude was on a tractor near the driving range when everything went down. Typical, though. If you’re gonna go to the trouble of giving a killer a nickname like the ‘Phantom of the Green,’ you gotta pin it on somebody.”

Seth and Chip surveyed the updated shrine, and soon were joined by Tam – proudly announcing he’d found the remnants of a 1-iron – and Grady. There were so many remembrances now, the green looked like a graveyard on decoration day.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Tam said. “And you have to figure we’ll have lots of company today … I hear they’ve organized a walking tour. Being it’s the tenth anniversary of the massacre, the amateur investigators will be showing up in full force … gotta keep the legend alive.”

Grady looked out toward the woods.

“You know,” he said, “this really would be the perfect time for the murderer to show up. If he ever wanted to come back, tonight would be the night … the lure of returning 10 years later is surely too strong to ignore.”

Seth nodded in agreement.

“I hope he does,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time to scare the life out of the bastard who killed us.”