Sheriff Randy Flecker's Dream

The Nashville Teens's version of "Tobacco Road" is playing from a record player in a living room. A young man is lying on a beige sofa, with his head on one armrest and his feet resting on top of the one on the other side. His eyes are closed. He nods his head with the drum beat and mouths the "o-o-o"s in the song.

The carpet is a dark brown. There is a small, square TV sitting on an entertainment stand with antennas coming out of it. The olive green curtains behind the sofa have been drawn open, revealing bright daylight. The walls are white stucco. There are framed pictures on the walls of the young man with other people and one picture of a much older man holding a rotweiler puppy. There is a coffee table in the living room, a short distance from the sofa, and on the coffee table there is a newspaper and a mug on top of a saucer. The room smells of coffee.

Jackson blinked and found himself in the kitchen, holding a hot cup of coffee with his right hand. He was leaning against the counter-top apparently engaged with someone on the telephone. He found the receiver and mouthpiece in his left hand. It was an old style phone, with the rotary dialer. There was still someone on the other end of the call, "Hello? Hey, you there?" Jackson replied with a dull, "Let me call you back." Jackson set the handset on the cradle. He took a sip of his coffee and looked around to get his bearings.

The man on the sofa hears a voice and quickly opens his eyes. He lifts his head off the sofa arm and glances around the room. He reaches over to his chest and picks up the hardcover copy of Leaves of Grass. He sets it on the coffee table. He sits upright on the sofa and looks toward the kitchen.

"Hello?"

Right when this was happening a loud banging came from the front door.

The Television screen is flashing off and on. An image of a man in black and white is seen up close. His face is very familiar. He appears to be trying to call out from the fuzzy media world. "NO!
OH GOD NO! DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR! IT'S ME! CLIFF! DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!"

Jackson stepped out into the living room, eyeing the TV. He stepped closer, trying to see who it was that was calling out to not open the door. "Cliff?" Jackson cocked a brow, then looked at the door. The banging grew louder from the door, even the door knob was shaking violently to the point where the knob on the inside of the door fell off and hit the floor with a hard thud. "What the fuck is it, Cliff?!" Jackson yelled at the TV.

A voice at the door, "Open up! It's me! Cliff Aslet!" The knocking resumed.

The television flickered as if getting interference. The fuzzy image of black and white Cliff held his mouth open in silence, but only a moment. "It's him! The killer! He has an axe! A big axe! A big, bloody, fucking axe!" More snow covered the screen.

Cameron came upon this house and he sees Jackson standing in the living room through the window. Cameron slowly unzips his jogging hoodie and jaunts to the window and knocks on it. "JACKSON, WHAT'S GOING ON IN THERE." Cameron screams to have his voice carry through the thick glass.

The young man first looks at the man who had identified himself as Jackson, then at the man outside the window. He springs himself off the couch and begins to back away from the others in the room, as well as the door.

“Who are you?” He looks from Jackson, to the man outside, to the man behind the TV screen. “Why are you in my house? What do you want? I don’t have anything for you.”

The young man suddenly has a shotgun in his hand. He looks down and notices and accepts it without question. He aims it at Jackson.

“I asked you: who the fuck are you?”

The Television screen goes completely to snow. It is hissing. The knocking at the door has ceased. The gold knob of the door, however, is turning slowly left and right.

Jackson felt that all eyes were on him now, and time seemed to slow when the shotgun was pointed at him. This wasn't the first time a gun had been pointed at Jackson, but he was too far away to disarm the young man. The shouts of Cameron were heard, but not necessarily understood.

"Put that shotgun down, boy. Things will end up bad if you don't," Jackson said in an even, unfeeling voice. There was no emotion, there was no time for it. Jackson's eyes focused not at the end of the barrel, but where the young man's fingers were on the trigger. There was no doubt, the young man was ready to shoot.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and the young man turned his head, momentarily distracted. With a swift, large step forward, Jackson gripped the barrel of the shotgun and pulled himself and the young man together, resulting in Jackson headbutting the young man and knocking him to the ground. At the same time, as Jackson stripped the gun away from the young man, the gun went off, a thunderous clap. It deafened Jackson and the young man momentarily, but Jackson came to first. He examined the living room, especially where the birdshot from the shotgun hit the wall. It hit high, above the TV, but the TV wasn't necessarily unscathed. A large crack in the glass screen could be seen starting to form, and started to cut diagonally across the screen.

Jackson held the shotgun, ejected the empty shell, and loaded a new shell from the magazine. He held the gun such that the barrel was pointed at the ceiling. Jackson was very familiar with this shotgun, a Remington 870. He glared at the young man on the floor, before looking to the door where the voice of Cliff could be heard. Aiming the shotgun at the door, Jackson yelled out, "Come in, but make it nice and slow, or your face will turn to hamburger!"

The door cracked open, and a whispering voice-almost a growl- emitted, "It is time to bury the axe. This place familiar at last! Let this truth be known, as the blade in a fearful stone. To those of rightful claim it will be known."

Cameron hears the loud bang of the shotgun go off and immediately ducks. He had never heard a gun in such close proximity before. as nobody in his family thought guns were necessary or useful. "Holy fuck!" Cameron said aloud to himself, "That thing was loud. No wonder people go deaf if they shoot those too often." Cameron was just about to pop his head back over the window ledge when he hears the front door opening. Worried that his friends may be in danger, Cameron sprints to the door and tackles the genderless voice knocking himself and the voice into the living room with a thud. They were now center stage in this circus. With the way things were going it seemed like the clowns were from hell. If not the whole thing itself. Cameron begins punching the voice as hard as he can. "Gotta be worth the price of admission" he thought to himself.

Cameron perceives that he is in a hellish circus, but the others do not experience the same illusion. All they can see is Cameron beating up the source of the voice just outside the door, on the front lawn. Only Cameron can see the circus and, walking across from the other end, Mister Redman.

When Cameron finally stops to look at the person he has been hitting mercilessly, he sees that the person looks exactly like him. The man on the other side of the door looks exactly like Cameron Johnson, and he is losing consciousness. Mister Redman draws near, and only Cameron can see it.

Still holding onto the shotgun, but dropping his aim, Jackson ran to the front door only to see two Cameron's, one atop the other. "What the fu-" Jackson's words were cut short as the young man, roused from the headbutt, came up behind him and threw a hard left hook that drove into the side of Jackson's temple. Jackson was stunned for a moment, and fell to a knee, still holding the shotgun, but looked up at his assailant. Who he was looking at now stunned him, and chilled him to his core.

"Holy Fuck. Do you guys see that? The Redman is here." Cameron gets off of the other Cameron. He is exhausted and his arm is on fire from the beating he doled out. He ran toward the redman and tries to tackle him. "YOU GUYS DON"T YOU FUCKING SEE THIS? WHY ARENT YOU ATTACKING HIM WITH ME?!"

The little television set is broken. A long-handled axe is sticking dead center in the screen. Cliff is now standing next to the TV set, taking heavy breaths of air. He turns his attention immediately to the clash between Cameron and The Redman. "GOD dammit! I knew it!" Cliff tries to remove the axe from the television. He receives an electric shock but bears with the struggle. "DAAAAAAAMN!" The axe breaks free. Cliff rushes to help fight off Redman....

Cameron's attempt to tackle Mister Redman ends in failure. Instead of knocking the brute over, Cameron collides with Mister Redman and feels the weight of running into a wall. Cameron is sent reeling back, and before either can make another move, Cliff comes charging toward Mister Redman with an axe. Mister Redman reaches forward and grabs Cliff by the throat with his massive club hand. He holds his other hand over Cliff's, with the intent of crushing his hand until he loosens his grip on the axe.

Two shots ring out one after the other. The young Randy Flecker is standing at the doorway with another Remington 870. He looks intently toward Mister Redman's location. He cannot see him, but he can see Cliff's struggling. The second shot came from Hollis Brown, who had apparently been riding a red bicycle to this location. The bicycle is behind him on the ground. Both shots were successful. Mister Redman's left leg and right arm have both been injured. The surprise from being shot at causes Mister Redman to momentarily release his grip on both Cliff's neck and his hand.

Mister Redman looks straight at Cliff, and he calls to him, "Cliff! Only you and Cameron can see me! Don't you wonder what makes you so special?"

Cliff Alset is breathing with heavy effort. He coughs. "I...I ...I always wonder about me. It's all so crazy sometimes. Yeah. Sure I can see you! What the fuck do you want?" He pauses a moment to catch his breath. " In all this fucking nightmare what role do you play? Who ARE you?"

Mister Redman cocks his head left, then right. With each turn, his neck cracks loudly. "What role?" Mister Redman smiles. His teeth are caked in blood. "I play the role of the hero. I make wishes come true."

Hollis Brown emerges behind Mister Redman and, before the latter can react, Hollis stabs his small knife into Mister Redman's neck. The knife, the same one that had been used to split open the red die, juts out from Mister Redman's neck as what looks like blood begins to pour out from the wound. What quickly becomes clear, however, is that it was not blood-- Mister Redman is melting.

Hollis steps back from the scene. Mister Redman's face is becoming lost. Within only a few seconds, all that remains is a black cloak submerged in a pool of red wax.

Hollis clears his throat and is about to say something, and then the dream ends.