The next morning, Tom’s friend Brandon, a researcher with an eye for historical artifacts, pulled into the driveway. Tom was already in the garage, tools laid out, ready to crack the first sphere open.
Brandon walked over to the pile, his expression shifting from curiosity to absolute dread. He didn’t even say hello.
“Tom, get away from those right now,” Brandon whispered, his voice trembling. He didn’t wait for an answer; he grabbed Tom by the shoulder and practically dragged him toward the street.
Tom was confused and frustrated. They were just old balls found in the dirt, right? But as they reached the edge of the property, a sound like a thunderclap tore through the quiet neighborhood.
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