Twas three nights before Christmas, and all through the hotel room, not a wrestler was stirring, not even his dad. Randy was dozing in bed without care, dreaming of tight ring shorts and long silky hair. When with no warning the door lock did beep, and into the room snuck an old creep.
Randy slid an eye open, his gaze narrowing as he recognized the familiar figure. He flipped on the light, glaring hostilely at his former stable mate. "What the hell are you doing, Flair?" he growled. "It's fuckin' midnight!"
Flair smiled ominously. "Randy, I'm here to help you evaluate your life. It's not too late to change! You're a bitchy little prick, and nobody likes you. Is that really how you want to live your life?" Randy growled, about to say something, when Flair cut him off. "Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts! I am the first, the Ghost of Christmas Past!"
Randy did not look convinced. "Aren't you supposed to be dead to be a ghost?" he demanded.
Flair shrugged. "You don't know any dead scrooges, so I'm it. Don't end up like me, Randy! I had it all...money, fame, love. And I threw it away, because my ego got so big, I didn't have room for anyone else."
Randy sighed, lying back down and putting his pillow over his head. "Go away! I'm tired, and I don't do this Christmas Carol shit."
"Randy..." Suddenly Flair was next to the bed, pulling the pillow away from Randy.
Randy blinked, feeling a bit unsettled. "How the hell did you do that?"
Flair ignored his question. "You're not happy," he continued.
"Only because that bastard Batista won't give me a title shot!" Randy snapped.
"NO!" Flair's voice boomed, and Randy shrunk back from him in fear. He glanced at the bed beside his, where his father was still sleeping peacefully. "Listen," Flair's voice was back to usual now, "I'm gonna take you back for a quick review of your love life, ok?"
Randy groaned. "Do we have to?"
Flair smirked. "Hey, I'm only the first ghost, champ. Better get up and get used to it!" He snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were in a familiar arena hallway.
Randy, who suddenly standing upright, clad only in a short robe and boxers, gasped as he took in their surroundings. "No way!" he whispered, his eyes bugging still more when he caught sight of...himself. He was standing, leaning against the wall, practically exuding an attitude of 'I'm better than you'. Brian Kendrick came bouncing down the hall, bubbly and adorable as always.
"Remember this?" Flair chuckled at Randy's slack-mouthed stare.
"Hey Randy!" Brian approached the past-Randy, giving him a huge grin. "You looked great in your interview tonight! It really kicked your feud into high gear."
"Thanks," the past-Randy replied, flexing one bicep arrogantly. "I do look good."
"I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink after the show," Brian offered.
The past-Randy snorted. "And chit-chat for a couple hours to try and earn my way into your pants? Look at me," he gestured to his shapely physique, "I don't need to do that. Let's just say you bring your hot little ass to my room around 11, and I'll give you the best fucking you ever had. Then you can go hang out with your little buddies and tell them how you were lucky enough to get a piece of the Legend Killer."
Brian's smile was, for once, nowhere in sight. "No thanks!" he snapped. He stomped away, and the past-Randy just shrugged, no sign of concern on his face. Flair gestured for Randy to follow Brian down the hall, and they strode after the angry little blonde. Brian slammed into the locker room, which was inhabited only by Paul London. "Asshole!" Brian screamed, glaring angrily at the wall before him, where Randy and Flair happened to be standing. Randy winced, Flair chuckled.
"I told you." Paul shook his head sadly. "I've been watching him since he jumped to Smackdown, and I've seen him treat guy after guy like shit."
Brian signed heavily, throwing himself down into the bench next to Paul. "I didn't think he could really be so bad," he mourned. "I thought he probably just needed a friendly hand held out to him. Geez! I invited him for a drink, and he suggested he fuck me and throw me out like garbage instead."
"He's an asshole. Forget about him." Paul smiled, putting his arm around Brian's shoulders. "Don't sweat it, Brian. You still wanna go out for that drink?"
"Nah," Brian mumbled, his smile returning as he looked up and met Paul's affectionate gaze. "But I could go for an overpriced mini-bar cocktail."
Paul returned Brian's grin. "Let's go!"
"Is there a point to me seeing this?" Randy snapped as Paul and Brian headed out of the locker room. Flair gave him a wicked grin, and snapped his fingers again. Now they were standing in a hotel hallway, although not the hotel they had left a few minutes ago. Randy heaved an exaggerated sigh. "So what, are you telling me that Spanky's supposed to be the love of my life?"
Flair shook his platinum blonde head, a bemused look on his face. "You're slow, champ, but you'll pick it up. Brian's just an example of missed opportunities. You're so god damn lonely, and anytime someone tries to reach out, you snap at them like a Rotweiler defending his junk yard. We're here now 'cos I want you to see what you're missing."
"What?" Randy furrowed his eyebrows, following Flair as the ghost pulled out a keycard and opened up the room before them. He flipped on the light, and Randy gasped at the sight before him. "Holy shit!" He turned quickly to Flair, although kept gazing at the scene before him out of the corner of his eye. "They can't see us, right?"
Flair laughed out loud. "Don't worry, Randy, this show's more like Smackdown than RAW. You're seeing it now, but it's already happened. Too late for a run in. Nice, huh?"
Randy turned fully back to the scene, licking his lips as he gazed at the entwined figures on the bed. "I didn't know Brian could do that," he murmured, bighting his lip and wishing he were wearing a bit more than boxers at the moment. "I can't believe you're showing me this."
"I ain't your daddy's Ghost of Christmas Past," Flair chuckled. "Besides, what better way to convince a macho young jackass to be a better guy than to show him the hot sex he's missing out on? That coulda been you!"
"Damn," Randy murmured, paying much more attention to the bed-shaking action going on in front of him than to Flair's words. He hardly heard the last thing the ghost said to him.
"Well, that's it for me. Hope you had a good time, 'cos I'm the fun one. See ya!"
Suddenly, the bed before him was empty, and the peacefully sleeping figure of his father lay in the next bed. Randy looked around, but Flair was nowhere to be seen. He sat down on his bed, shaking his head and blinking his eyes a few times. "Damn," he whispered, "I must've been dreaming while sleep walking. Where the hell did that come from?" He slid off his robe and climbed into bed, turning off the light.
"Hey! Wake up ya jerk, I got somethin' ta show ya!"
Randy groaned as the light turned itself on. He slitted his eyes open, seeing the blurry outline of what appeared to be a surly elf. He sat up and fully opened his eyes. The figure before him was, in fact, a surly elf; or rather, a surly Italian dressed as an elf. "Don't tell me, you're the Ghost of Christmas Present," he muttered, rolling his eyes and sighing.
"Ya got it, pal," Nunzio replied. "Now get your ass up, I've got shit ta show ya, and I ain't got all night."
Before Randy had a chance to move, he was lying on a bed in another room. Soft sappy Christmas music drifted through the air, accompanied by the scent of vanilla candles burning. The candles were the only light in the room, but a stronger glow seemed to be coming from the main room. Randy looked around, but Nunzio did not appear to be in the bedroom with him. He slid off the bed, pausing briefly to stroke the soft red silk sheets adorning it. "This should be interesting," he murmured, striding through the open main room door.
The light that he had seen proved to be a blazing fire, roaring from the hearth as it cast magical tendrils of light into the room. A couple sat together by the hearth, gazing lovingly into each others' eyes as they fed each other chocolate-dipped strawberries. Nunzio was standing behind the two men, his gaze focused on Randy.
Randy sighed, rolling his eyes. The romantic scene before him was causing an uncomfortable tightness in his stomach, but he wasn't about to admit it. "Ok, I see what I'm missing," he quipped. "Sappy gushy romance. Oh joy."
Nunzio smirked, turning his eyes to Rey and Batista, who had abandoned the strawberries and where now kissing passionately. "Remember what happened with Rey as few months back?" the little ghost pushed, still gazing at the lovely couple.
Randy couldn't help but gaze at the entwined men, both of whom looked so completely happy. "I got what I wanted from Rey," he choked out, flushing at the emotional crack in his voice.
"Right. How'd ya put it to him?" Nunzio's voice was harsh.
Randy swallowed. "Sorry, but I've had you," he whispered. He had liked Rey; he had really liked Rey. But he didn't do 'relationships'. That was why he had panicked internally after spending a hot night with the diminutive luchadore. When Rey had asked him about another night together, he had coldly replied that he had no further interest in Rey.
"You're the reason for this, ya know." Nunzio gestured to Rey and Batista, who were still kissing, their eyes closed and their arms wrapped around each other. "It probably would've happened anyway. It had started already, but what you did, that kicked it into high gear!"
"Because Rey ran to his 'best friend', Batista, for comfort," Randy sighed.
"More or less." Nunzio finally took his eyes off the entwined couple, focusing his gaze on Randy. "I'd love to stay," he stated, "but I ain't as much of a perv as the Creep of Christmas Past. Besides, I got another champ to visit tonight." He strode over to Randy, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Hope ya learned somethin', kid."
"I did." Randy looked up at the ceiling, blinking back the tears in his eyes.
"Good." Nunzio took his hand off Randy's shoulder, giving him a little smile. "Ya ain't done yet, kid. You know what comes next."
Randy swallowed. "Is that really necessary? I mean, just seeing this has been enough. I don't really need to see - " he paused, swallowing hard, " - see the future I could have. I don't need to see myself dying alone, miserable and unmourned.
Nunzio smirked. "Sorry kid, but the third ghost - well, let's just say he enjoys what he does. Have fun!"
Then Nunzio was gone, and Randy was once again standing in his own hotel room.
"Fuck!" Randy threw himself onto his bed, putting his head in his hands. "Please, please let this be a bad dream!" he pleaded. He took a deep breath, staying still for a moment until he felt a bit calmer. His eyes darted around the hotel room, his heart fluttering at every little shadow. "No, no, no. No! Nothing's here, I'm just freaking myself out!"
He jumped to his feet, striding over to the door and hitting the light switch. The lights blazed, fully illuminating the room. Randy re-checked all the corners where he had seen shadows. They were all empty. No one was in the hotel room, besides his peacefully sleeping dad. "Just my imagination," Randy reassured himself. His eyes moved to the bed where his father slept, and he strode over, shaking his father lightly.
"Dad! Hey dad, wake up." Cowboy Bob didn't stir. Randy felt his heart begin to thud. "Dad! Dad!" He shook his father harder; still no response. "Come on pops, this isn't funny!" He grabbed hold of his dad's shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Randy gasped and stepped back; his father's eyes were open, staring motionlessly up to the ceiling, his jaw slack and his mouth hanging open.
"Oh god!" Randy fell to his knees, staring in horror at his father's lifeless form. "Dad! No!"
Suddenly, the lights flickered. The white light fizzled out, and up rose an eerie red glow. Randy's eyes darted in every direction, his heart nearly thundering out of his chest as wispy black shadows danced around him.
A deep, evil laugh rang out, followed by a chilling voice. "Randy," the darkness growled. "Now the last person that loved you is dead." The Undertaker appeared, floating above Bob Orton's still body, the folds of his dark cloak whipping about him violently.
"Nooo!" Randy curled up on the floor, covering his head with his hands. "Dad! No!"
"Now, Randy," hissed the Undertaker's sinister voice, sending tremors of terror coursing through Randy's every nerve, "Now, it's time to go to hell!"
"Nooo!" Randy lay on the floor, screaming 'no' over and over and over again, as the red darkness enveloped him, creeping into every part of him. "No! No! Nooo!" His world was spinning, and spinning, and spinning...
"No!" He hit the floor with a loud thunk. He was breathing heavily, his heart racing. His eyes were full of fuzzy green carpet. He took a deep breath, blinking into the carpet. He didn't want to look up. If the Undertaker was there, he didn’t want to see. He took another deep breath, staring down into the unthreatening mesh beneath him. "It was a dream," he whispered. Another calming breath, and he was ready to look up. The room was dark, but still.
Slowly he stood, moving his eyes to the bed beside his, praying that it was, in fact, only a dream. His father's chest was moving; he was absolutely certain of it. Still, he wasn't taking any chances. "Dad?" he said softly, putting a hand on his father's shoulder.
Cowboy Bob stirred, turning bleary eyes on his son. "Randy? You ok?"
"Dad." Randy sat down on the bed, pulling his father into his arms. "I love you," he blurted out, trying to suppress the strained note in his voice.
Cowboy Bob patted his son on the back reassuringly, looking confused and concerned. "I love you too, Randy. You ok?"
"Yeah." Randy pulled back, breathing in deeply. "I just - I had a dream that you weren't there."
"Aw, Randy." Cowboy Bob smiled, taking his son's hand in his own. "Ya ain't had a nightmare like that since you were a kid."
"I'm not that old," Randy swallowed, a strange sort of hope coming over him, "I still have time to change."
Cowboy Bob gave his son a questioning look. "You sure it's just a dream that’s bothering you? You didn't take any drugs, did you?" Bob raised his freehand, cupping Randy's chin and peering into his eyes. "Your pupils are awfully big."
Randy smiled, pulling his hand from his dad's and standing up. "It's just the dark, dad." He climbed back into his own bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. "Sorry I woke you up. Night dad."
"Night Randy." Cowboy Bob turned over and went back to sleep.
Randy lay awake in bed, staring sightlessly into the darkness. It
had all been a dream. Well...he was relatively sure it had been a
dream. That didn't really matter, though; whether or not the experience
itself was real, the message was.