Ripped Van Winkle
This is one of my short stories, focusing around a mixed martial artist dealing with sleep apnea. A spooky tale just in time for the Halloween season!
(Content warning: Violence and language)
‘Ripped’ Van Winkle
by Garrett DeRose
The chain-link cage shook and rattled, nearly being ripped from the concrete foundation by the excited patrons. The fight, if you could call it that – was over. The human spinal column is a pretty delicate thing, especially when used as a pogo stick. Confetti rained down from the ceiling, tiny pieces sticking to the greasy, sweaty skin of Randy ‘Ripped’ Van Winkle. He ran around the inside edge of the octagonal arena, dragging his fingers along the fence. Making sure to jump over his mangled, seemingly unresponsive opponent, he continued to do his victory laps. Eventually, he had to zig-zag around the emergency responders who crouched around in a tight circle. His show of arrogance was ended pretty quickly by a miscalculated step, sending him airborne.
“What the fuck?” said Randy.
He had slipped, going ass-over-tea-kettle. His feet had gone nearly straight up in front of him – his upper-back and neck absorbing the brunt of the fall. The patrons on the other side of the cage were trying to get Randy’s attention, pointing and screaming. The man who was closest to the fence was wiping tiny specks of red from his face, as if he were splashed by something. It took a few seconds, but Randy eventually realized what the crowd was trying to communicate to him. He had slipped in a pool of blood.
Some time later, Randy found himself visiting his primary care physician.
“The sleep study went fine, so did your bloodwork.” The doctor slid his glasses down his nose, looking over the chart. He scribbled some unintelligible notes, exhaling deeply. “It could just be a type of allergic reaction. Maybe you should invest in a hypo-allergenic pillow?”
Randy grunted, looking off to the side. The doctor shrugged, setting the clipboard down on a nearby counter. Pulling the nitrile gloves over his frail, hairy hands, he approached his gigantic patient. Randy was enormous, his entire body appearing several times wider than that of an average man. The doctor nearly kinked his neck looking upward at Randy’s square jawed face, which was attached to a wide head - narrowing near the top. This narrowing was accentuated by a half-inch tall Mohawk style haircut. A tag stuck out from the back of Randy’s patient gown, reading XXL – the largest size they could find for him. It was an embarrassing thing for him to wear, especially since it was short enough to leave him exposed.
“Time for our favorite part… the hernia test” The doctor said, wincing. He reached down, trembling as he placed his gloved hand under what felt like the head of a giant pacific octopus. This wasn’t the first time he had given Randy a physical, and he was always shocked and disturbed by the size of his scrotum.
“Turn your head and cough, please.”
Later that day, Randy Van Winkle found himself daintily navigating a shopping cart down the fragrant aisles of Bed Bath and Beyond. An individually wrapped pillow sat in front of him, the brand name in gold cursive. Squinting, he attempted to read the decorative font.
“Do you need help finding anything?” asked a chipper sales associate who had mysteriously appeared from around the corner. A nametag that read ‘Steven’ was perfectly pinned to his lavender button-up - though Randy would never care to look at it.
“Uh”, replied Randy, “I’m cool, bro.”
The cheerful employee eagerly nodded and stood in place for an uncomfortable amount of time. It was likely that he hadn’t seen many customers that day.
“Oh geez! What happened to your neck?” squawked Steven.
Randy let out a growl and ripped the pillow from the shelf and stormed off, leaving his cart behind.
Stepping down from his gigantic Ford F-350, Randy pounded the driveway with passive-aggressive pavement-cracking strides. He pelted the kitchen counter with his keys and sunglasses, his stomping steps now echoing through the vastness of his suburban palace. He nearly crushed the bathroom doorknob with his veiny hands. Taking off his T-shirt, he peered through the mirror, examining the spotty bruising around his neck. This was not an injury he had acquired during a match, or at least from what he could recall. Randy scowled at the sight of it, balling his fists.
Later that night, the punching bag was nearly hitting the ceiling, the chain barely able to hold it. Randy stood naked in what appeared to be a garage-turned-training-room. His labored blows were slightly drowned out by the nu-metal, which blasted from a nearby boom box. A nearby bench-press station had two-hundred pounds of weight on each end. A shelf on the adjacent wall was covered in large trophies, with several ornate belts hanging from hooks. One of the plaques read ‘Best Sleeper-Hold Maneuver 2015 – Randy ‘Ripped’ Van Winkle’.
The rest of the garage interior was lined in posters and magazine clippings - many of them featuring depictions of Randy standing over battered and unconscious opponents. After a shower and a protein shake nightcap, he decided to test out his new pillow.
“Get the fuck off me!” Randy yelled, grasping at his muscular neck.
He shot straight up in bed, flailing about. Panting and gasping, his beady eyes scanned the room for intruders. Of course, there was no one to be found. It took Randy some time to catch his breath, his wheezing – loud and rasped. Looking down at his hands, he thought:
Fuck bro, am I tryin’ to choke my own ass out?
He made his way into the living room, which was lined in its entirety with leather sectional couches. His TV, equally gigantic, took up an entire wall. With the flick of the remote, the immense brightness turned night into day. Randy grabbed a nearby pair of sunglasses. He had found himself on the couch more often, as of late - his night terrors causing a terrible insomnia. Although he was well known to win all of his fights, this was an entirely different sort of fight – the fight for a good night’s rest. It was affecting his performance, and he had a big match later that month. Removing his shades, he squinted at the program.
“Did you hear that? Get the multi-frequency recorder, now!” The man on the TV yelled.
Randy shook his head, annoyed. He hated ghost-hunter shows, or anything resembling them. On this episode, a group of ‘researchers’ were investigating an evil spirit which haunted a popular bed-and-breakfast. With a second flick of the remote, the screen went black.
“Shits unrealistic” Randy grumbled to himself, peeling his gigantic nude body from the leather couch. He looked back at the blank screen, shaking his head. “Ghosts are baby shit, yo.”
The next morning began with the sound of a blender. He bent down and observed his reflection in the toaster. The circles under his eyes seemed to be getting darker by the day. He pulled one eyelid down, noticing the increased bloodshot. Wiping the white moustache from his upper lip, he stomped over and ripped a post-it-note from the fridge.
“Yeah dude, it happened again last night. Guess your shitty little pillow idea didn’t work?”
Randy had the cordless phone up to his ear, pacing back and forward as he aired his grievances. A shrill voice buzzed faintly through the earpiece.
I think I’m going to have to refer you to a naturopath. I’ll have the information faxed over to your manager. I’m sure he’ll be able to get you in before the end of the month.
Randy nearly spit his drink.
“You listen up, and you listen real good.” He demanded
“I need to fix this shit NOW! I’ve done everything you’ve said. Find me a fucking doctor who can fix my shit now, or your ass is FIRED!”
Well, I’ll have to make a few calls and hopefully we can get—
“YERRRRAGGGHHHH!” Randy yelled, interrupting the physician.
Um, nice talking to you Mr. Van Winkle – I’ll make sure to fax—
The phone shattered into several pieces, the jagged scraps of cheap plastic crumbling onto the kitchen linoleum. Randy had a tendency of crushing things with his bare hands when he became agitated.
The barbell could barely hold the weight on each end, dipping as if it were made of rubber. Randy lay on the bench, wearing bright green fight shorts. Sweat poured off of him as he pitched the weight. He let out a mighty yaulp with his last rep. The metal bar clanked in place. Before he could move onto the next stage of his fitness routine, a knock on the door barely cut through the loud music. Snatching a boxing robe from off a nearby hook, he made way. The door swung open, nearly being ripped off the hinge. Randy did not like to be interrupted. Most people would’ve been startled and intimidated, but the man on the doorstep held his composure.
“The fuck you want?” asked Randy, his beady eyes burning from the sweat.
“Forgive my intrusion!”
Standing before Randy was a short, thin man dressed in a three-piece suit. One of his eyes was cloudy, and his hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“You have ten seconds before I powerbomb your ass on the welcome mat” Randy said, leaning out the doorway.
“You look rather gaunt, Mr. Van Winkle – have you not been sleeping well?” The man chimed, cocking his head inquisitively.
Before he was able to continue, Randy dashed forward and lifted the man up in the air, his polished loafers now dangling several inches from the ground.
“YOU BETTER PUT UP, OR SHUT UP!” Randy yelled, saliva blasting into the man’s face.
The poor man found himself airborne shortly after, landing on his rear. Seemingly unaffected, he stood back up. Dusting his sleeves, the man regained his composure.
“Mr. Van Winkle, you must understand that I was sent here to help you.” He said, clearing his throat beforehand.
Randy felt a slight tinge of embarrassment. He had nearly forgotten about he and the doctor’s conversation that morning.
“Oh shit, bro. My manager usually warns me bout this stuff. I guess you’re the nature-path or some shit?” Randy scratched the back of his neck.
“The name is Suimin, Dr. Suimin – at your service” He said, extending a white-gloved hand.
“Though, you can call me Su”
Su found himself sitting on a gigantic sectional couch. He looked around the room, as if he were admiring the décor. Randy sat far across from him, repeatedly tossing a medicine ball up in the air.
“So, tell me again – where have these disturbances been taking place?” Su asked in his small, sophisticated voice.
“Um… Its like, whenever I sleep. Shit feels like I’m choking to death. So yeah, I guess the bedroom. Sometimes on the couch.” Randy struggled, fixated on the medicine ball.
“Do you mind if I take a look around?” asked Su.
“Uh, ok. Just don’t touch any of my shit”
Su left the room for several moments, returning with a concerned look on his face. He cleared his throat, trying to get Randy’s attention. Failing to do so, he whisked his hands out, snatching the medicine ball from the air.
“The fuck, bro?” Randy growled, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Su dropped the medicine ball and approached quickly.
“Chin up, I need to see those markings on your neck”
Su grabbed his enormous jutting chin and tilted his head backwards. This had shocked Randy into a sort of nervous compliance. Removing one of his white gloves, Su gently pressed two fingers over the bruises. His face went from concern to that of shock. He took a step backwards, sliding the white glove back onto his hand.
“Dude, whats up?” Asked a puzzled Randy.
Su looked upwards, his eyes darting about.
“I do believe I know what has been causing your disturbances.” Su explained in a sharp tone.
“Bout fuckin time.” Randy replied.
“I must be allowed to stay the night. I must observe you,” said Su
“Another sleep study? I just had one!”
It was nearly midnight before Randy could fall asleep. He hated company, and hated the blinking red light across from his bed. Su had set up a video camera in the corner before retiring to the sectional for the evening. Attached to his head was a goofy looking headlamp, revealing the yellow pages of a leather bound book. Just as Su’s eyes started to grow heavy, a fit of loud coughing erupted from the bedroom. Su sprinted down the hallway, placing his hand on the doorknob. He quickly pulled it away in hesitation. Waiting outside the door, he listened to the sounds of Randy’s struggle. After a moment or so, he rubbed his gloveless hands together and turned the doorknob.
“Where the hell were you?!” yelled a breathless Randy, hunched over and wheezing on the edge of the bed.
Su started running his hands over the walls, examining the room. He even held Randy’s hypoallergenic pillow up to his face, sniffing deeply. Finally, he stepped over and placed his hand on Randy’s muscular back.
“I am very sorry you had to experience that. Please come out into the living room as soon as possible, there is something I must show you…”
Su had ran a cable from the video camera into the back of Randy’s TV. After fast-forwarding through most of the footage, he let the tape roll.
“…I’m also very sorry for what you’re about to see.” Su added
Randy’s face changed to that of shock. The footage revealed a shadowy, ghost-like figure phasing into the bedroom. The figure appeared to grab the sleeping Randy by the head, pulling him upright into a sitting position. The shadow then positioned itself behind him, putting him into a rear-naked chokehold.
“I knew it! Fuck, dude – I knew it!” Randy jumped up in his seat, shouting in anger. “That’s my move!”
“I knew someone was tryin’ to choke my ass out! Was that a fuckin’ ghost, bro?!”
Su sighed deeply and faced Randy, putting his hand on his massive shoulder.
“Do you have any enemies, Mr. Van Winkle?”
Randy calmed himself and scratched the back of his head, shifting his eyes around as he attempted to recall names.
“Uh… yeah, like a shitload.” He resigned.
“Can you think of anyone who has recently passed away? Someone who might have held a grudge or animosity towards you in life?” Su asked, tilting his chin upward.
“Um… Oh yeah!” Randy exclaimed. “I totally killed this wuss in a fight like a year ago. Didn’t mean to, you know. Maybe its his ghost, or some shit?”
Su sighed heavily before replying: “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
It was nearly 5:00AM, and both men sat on the floor of the living room, awkwardly hunched over a Ouija board. There were hundreds of lit candles populating every surface around them. They had been performing all sorts of ceremonies throughout the night.
“Oh mighty spirit!” Su addressed loudly, “Instruct us of your worldly desires! Reach out from the void and give us a sign!”
A flash of blue light bathed the living room from nearby window. It was followed by a thunderous crack.
“Yes, oh great warrior spirit!” yelled Su, “We offer the reconciliation of the flesh! What is your business with the living? What do you desire?!” Su continued
“Oh fuck bro, look!” Randy cried.
The Ouija planchette began moving quickly, stopping on letters for no more than two seconds at a time. It spelled out:
R…..E…..M…..A…..T.....C…..H
Randy screamed and fell over backwards, kicking the Ouija board out of the way - his wide mouth, agape.
“OH SHIT! BEHIND YOU!” he yelled, pointing over Su’s shoulder.
The shadowy figure had appeared, and was standing right behind the slouched-over Su. Before he could react, the white-gloved doctor flew across the living room. His body smashed into the gigantic television screen. Randy shot up onto his feet, putting his fists up. He scanned the room for the spirit, but it appeared to have vanished. He shifted his attention to the injured Su, laying in a pile of broken glass.
“Uh, hey Dr. Suimin – are you ok?”
Su calmly lifted himself back up, regained his composure. He smiled wickedly at Randy, putting his fists up.
“Remember me?” An evil voice asked.
Randy planted his feet and narrowed his eyes. His heart began to race as he mentally prepared himself for the spectral rematch of his life.
“Come at me, ghost!”
The possessed Dr. Suimin charged, going for a tackle. Randy jumped out of the way, landing a powerful kick to the right flank. Su buckled over, cackling in delight.
“You fool! You think you are so powerful. I escaped the fires of hell to find you. You cannot fathom the terrible pleasures and torments I have endured, waiting for this moment. Prepare to die, Randy! Your strength will not save you this time! YERRRAGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”
Again, Su charged at his large opponent. Randy quickly ducked out of the way and grabbed him from behind.
“NOOOO!” The spirit screamed, ending with an abrupt silence.
Randy had suplexed the possessed doctor onto the hardwood floor, ending the conflict with a loud snapping noise. It was either the sound of a neck breaking, or the floorboards cracking. Upon inspection, it was both. Randy let loose Su’s body, and triumphantly plopped down onto the couch.
“Maybe now I’ll get some fucking sleep, heh” He said, looking down at the mangled corpse at his feet.
Turning his enormous head and looking out the nearest window, he could see the sun begin to peak over the horizon. The early birds were chirping and singing; the neighbor’s wind chimes harmonizing in tune. For the first time in his life, Randy had found peace. He rested his feet on Suimin’s dead body, sighing and placing his hands behind his head. He laid back and smiled.
“Life can be real fuckin’ beautiful sometimes,” He laughed, letting out a pleased sigh.
He reached for the TV remote, and pressed the ‘on’ button. Pale blue light washed over Suimin’s twisted, open-mouthed dead face, as the sounds of a ghost hunter show echoed through the living room.
(END)*
*Later that year, Randy ‘Ripped’ Van Winkle was found dead, choked to death by two ghosts.