OROMOCTO — The local area arena was supposed to be completely dead this past weekend. With no games on the schedule, the bleachers were pulled back, the concession stands were locked tight, and the building had settled into that eerie, hollow silence that only a New Brunswick November can provide.
At least, that’s what the town recreation department thought until Monday morning, when the ice surface looked less like a regulation sheet of hockey glass and more like a crime scene staged by a demonic groundskeeper.
According to overnight security footage—which security officials are currently debating whether to burn or hand over to paranormal investigators—the facility’s vintage Zamboni decided to clock in all by itself at 2:14 AM on Sunday. With no driver in the seat, the throttle jammed open, and the headlights glowing a sickly, sulfurous yellow, the heavy machine burst out of its garage bay and tore onto the ice under its own unholy power.
And it wasn't just doing donuts. It was running drills.
Eyewitness reports from the janitorial staff and a few very confused local raccoons indicate that the ghost-driven ice resurfacer was barking tactical instructions into the empty arena rafters, meticulously carving out circles while enacting a bizarre, supernatural scrimmage.
At the center of the phantom chaos was veteran defenseman Rasmus Sandin, whose locker stall had apparently emptied itself hours earlier. Witnesses swore they saw Sandin’s ghost materializing near the blue line, hitching a ride on the back bumper of the rogue Zamboni while calmly sipping a coffee that was visibly rotting in real-time.
Not to be outdone, forward Kent Johnson was spotted buzzing across the freshly shaved ice at terrifying, physics-defying speeds, treating the Zamboni’s exhaust pipe like an obstacle course. Operating with an unholy level of endurance that would make a marathon runner weep, Johnson kept pace with the mechanical beast until the engine started coughing up black smoke and ectoplasm.
Further down in the slot, Mason McTavish played the role of the ultimate gatecrasher. Sources claim McTavish spent the better part of the witching hour standing directly in the Zamboni's path, daring the machine to run him down, only to bury a phantom puck into an imaginary net with a scoring touch so lethal it actually frosted the glass.
The rest of the roster’s spirits apparently joined the midnight joyride. Robert Thomas lurked in the dark corners near the Zamboni doors, picking pockets off stray maintenance tools, while Luke Hughes glided across the slushy corners like a poltergeist leaving a trail of freezing fog. Down low, Justin Barron planted himself right in front of the goal crease like an immovable tombstone, refusing to let the heavy machinery resurface the goal mouth.
Even the rookies and veterans got in on the graveyard shift. Brett Hull fired phantom wristers from the penalty box for pennies, while Sebastian Aho watched the mechanical madness from a fold-out lawn chair near the timekeeper's bench, shaking his head and muttering about kids these days having no respect for proper ice-cutting etiquette. Filip Zadina was also seen lurking in the shadows, though nobody is entirely sure if he was participating or just trapped in the wall.
Of course, a disaster of this magnitude requires proper goaltending. Guarding the net against the rogue snow-dump was Spencer Knight, standing like a stone gargoyle in an empty crease and refusing to blink. Backing him up was Mike Vernon, who spent the night operating in a slightly bruised condition—mostly because a rogue spark from the Zamboni's battery seems to have short-circuited his temporal lobe.
By 5:00 AM, the machine finally ran out of gas, sputtering to a pathetic halt near the penalty box and leaving behind a slush pile mixed with grave dirt and old popcorn.
The town council has since declared the arena a designated spooky zone, and local players have been officially advised that if they hear a loud engine rumbling through the vents late at night, they should lock their lockers, check their pulses, and let the machine finish its laps. After all, in Oromocto, even the ice maintenance crew refuses to stay buried.
11/2/2026 - 671 words
