The Ope Man

Post pictures on social media wearing RED PLAID having fun with friends, enjoying nature, doing hobbies or sports, or any other activity that embodies the Ope Man spirit. The Ope Man is a shape shifter so he can be anyone at any time in any place. Use the facebook and instgram links above or link back to this website with your posts on other platforms.

Things to avoid:

1. Showing the face of the person wearing the Red Plaid. Make them mysterious

2. Drugs, alcohol, sexual content, violence, anything illegal. The Ope Man is for all ages and should set a good example for the younger ones

3. Racism, sexism, general hate towards any groups. The Ope Man can be anyone and is a protector at heart

1. The Ope Man can not swear, do drugs/drink, commit violence but other characters can

2. The Ope Man must wear red plaid in some form ie his traditional long sleeve shirt but could be a bow tie, suspenders, hat, or anything else as long as it is part of his outfit

3. The Ope Man is a shapeshifter so can have any appearance. Children (or those with childlike innocence) see his true appearance as a tall burly man with brown hair and no facial hair.

4. The Ope Man has a coffee mug with hot black viscous fluid that everyone assumes is coffee. It is always full no matter how much he drinks. No one else is allowed to touch it. It can appear and disappear at will. There is a Minnesota decal on the mug which is at the bottom of this page but it is an alive scene on his mug.

“Good morning, and welcome to the 25th annual Maxwell Lake fishing competition. Get your bait on your hooks and your lines in the water to see who can bring in the biggest fish of the day!” The announcer was cheerful and full of energy for five in the morning as the competitors made their way to their spots. The smell of coffee was in the air and the morning grumbles as everyone greeted each other.

A few minutes into the competition a shout went up, “I caught one!” Said a man in plaid as he pulled on his rod that had a barely perceptible bend to it. The burly man seemed to be putting in a lot of effort, so everyone waited with bated breath that was close by. When the fish came out of the water, it was only a two-inch-long Flathead Catfish. Everyone around him laughed, some out loud while others silently.

The man in plaid seemed proud as he held up his fish. He took it off the hook and put it into the big bucket beside him. He sat down in his chair and started to sip from a steaming mug of coffee that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t rebait his hook. He didn’t put his line back in.

As the day went on, there were more shouts as people landed fish. They were seeming to get bigger and bigger, but still the man in plaid sat sipping his coffee. Some competitors that hadn’t seen him reel in his catch walked by and looked in his bucket. “Wow, what is that, a seven-inch flathead?” One asked and the other competitors around chuckled a little at the joke.

“That fish has got to be three feet long. It’s bigger than my toddler.” Someone said as they looked down into the man in plaid’s bucket. Had the bucket gotten bigger? As the competitors that had been around when the man had landed the fish looked over, the fish splashed its tail and a gallon of water cascaded out.

They exchanged looks with each other. Had the man moved when they weren’t paying attention? Had he gone and bought a fish? Surely, they would’ve noticed if he had landed such a big fish. “And that’s time! Our winner of the day is this gentleman here in the red plaid with the four-foot-long flathead catfish. What is your name sir?”

“I am The Ope Man.”

It was the county fair's annual bag tournament. Eight games were starting at the same time and while he had always wanted to participate, he was hopeless at the game and could never convince anyone to do it with him. He was an embarrassment at every barbeque and grad party when he tried to play.

     “It looks like you could use a partner.” A big burly man in plaid said from beside him. “I have to warn you, I haven’t played in a long time. I might be a bit rusty.” The big man clapped a massive hand on his shoulder and nearly sent him to the ground. The gruff laugh was contagious and brought a smile to his face.

     “No need to worry about that. If anyone is going to sink us, it’s going to be me.” He told the man in plaid. “I’m about the worst bags player you’ll ever meet.” He wrung his hands. “Just thought you should know before you saddle yourself with me.”

     “Each day is a new day.” The man told him. “Sometimes things just work out.”

     “That’ll be the day.”

     “Competitors to your boards!” The announcer called. They made their way to their first game. Their competition looked like they knew what they were doing. They had matching shirts and everything. He would be the first of their team to go. He lined up his first throw. When he released it, he sneezed and his arm went wild.

     He watched the bag soar through the air. It hit the bottom edge of the board and cartwheeled like a throwing star. It worked its way up the ramp until stopped at the edge of the hole. It seemed to pause and think there for a moment before diving into the hole. It was the first time he had even gotten one in the hole.

     They won that game with the usual back and forth. During the next game he had thought that someone had called his name during a throw and had turned while throwing. The no look throw had sailed in without touching the board. He hadn’t believed it until someone had shown him the video on their phone. What kind of craziness was going on today?

     The semi-finals had him tripping over his own feet at one point. Again, that somehow had the bag going into the hole without touching the board. His partner was also no slouch. Whatever rust he claimed to have had, was nonexistent. The man was making just as many bags on the board and in the hole. He seemed to be doing it with no effort at all.

     It was down to the last round at the finals. All his bags were ringed around the hole. He had one bag left and the only way they could win was to get at least two of them in the hole. He didn’t want to let the man in plaid down. He should really learn the man’s name. They had been partnered for a few hours now. He looked at the man who was drinking from a steaming ceramic coffee mug. Wait a minute, where did he get that?

     He was looking at the man and thinking about everything other than the game at hand as he wound up and released the bag. It was in the air before he even realized what had happened. It arced up and down and would go straight through the other bags making them lose by just a few points. Just when he was about to lose hope, the bag hit the edge of the board, and all the bags fell into the hole. They had won by a wide margin.

     He went over to his partner. “We won!” He said excitedly. It was such a great feeling to finally be good at this game. He couldn’t wait to play with his family at the next gathering. The event staff tapped him on the shoulder to give him the small trophy and when he turned back, his partner was gone. He whispered under his breath, “Who are you?” and he heard a whisper in the back of his brain.

     “I am the Ope Man.”

“That side is a little crooked.”

“No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is it the red candle in the west?”

“No, it's the yellow.”

“Who has the best Latin pronunciation?”

“Cheryl does.”

“Carl, would you put your coffee down and help us already?”

“Dang nab it Jill! You spilled my coffee!”

The broken shards of the coffee cup lay on the ground as the liquid flowed across the garage floor to the pentagram drawn in chicken's blood. Once it touched the blood, the casual flow turned to current as it rushed to the center of the pentagram. No one noticed as they bickered amongst themselves. Afterall, this was just book club and demons weren't real. They weren't really going to summon anything with the ritual they had found in the old book in the attic.

“Ummm, guys.” Earl’s eyes were locked on the center of the pentagram as he waved his hand blindly around him trying to hit anyone else to get their attention. “I don't think this was such a good idea.” Jill and Carl were still in each other’s faces and didn't hear him. Cheryl turned to look at him and noticed where he was looking. Her face went white and she swallowed.

“I know I was just supposed to get salt but I thought, what the heck, and got margaritas too. Who's the tall drink of water?” Denise asked as she burst into the garage with a pitcher of margaritas in hand, solo cups in the other, and the container of salt pinched between her elbow and side. At her question, Jill and Carl finally stopped fighting and looked to see who she was talking about.

Standing in the middle of the pentagram was a tall, burly man with a red plaid shirt on. He was holding a steaming mug with a Minnesota logo on it. It wasn't his size alone that made them all feel dread when they looked at him. They could feel power radiate off of him and the look on his face showed that he was angry. Carl felt like he was on the verge of wetting his pants from how afraid he was.

The man stepped forward and grabbed the old book from Cheryl's hands and glared at it for a moment before raising his eyes back up to Cheryl. Her heart jumped up to her throat. He thumped Cheryl on the forehead with the book and said, “Don't.” *thunk*

Jill, “Play,” *thunk*

Earl, “With,” *thunk*

Carl, “Magic,” *thunk*

Denise, “Idiots.” *thunk*

Denise blinked and looked around the living room at the rest of the book club. Everyone had a red mark on their foreheads and a confused look on their faces. “What was that?” Carl asked as he picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. It was the perfect temperature and not a crack on the cup. The coffee tasted better than it ever had before.

“The better question is who was that?” Denise asked and they all looked around at each other. They could all feel a pricking in the back of their brains like something long forgotten trying to be remembered. It was like trying to think of a song that you can't quite remember the melody of the lyrics too but you'd know it if you heard it. There seemed to be a lightbulb moment for all of them at the same time. In unison they said, “The Ope Man.”

He was sitting in his cruiser on the side of the back country road. People rarely came through this way, but when they did, they usually came through fast. He'd either have no one or he was going to be writing tickets all day. There wasn't much in between. That was just his life being the low man at the sheriff's office in a small town in Minnesota.

It was a pretty good job. He preferred dealing with attitude while giving out speeding tickets to getting shot at in the city, but sometimes he craved something more exciting. His brothers always had more exciting stories to tell at family gatherings and don't even get him started on his in-laws. His wife's whole family were military veterans with wild stories who then came back to be doctors and police officers with even wilder stories.

The car shook as a red smear went by on the road. He flipped on the lights and sirens before it even registered as a vehicle and took off after it. With how fast it zoomed by him, he was surprised to find himself right on the old red truck's tail right away. He couldn't tell the brand but it almost looked antique in a well loved kind of way. The speedometer read eighty miles an hour as they raced down the country roads.

There was a squeal of tires as the truck turned left to go into the corn fields. Huh, he hadn't known there was a dirt road there. He thought he knew where all the roads were around here. The cruiser fish tailed as he followed down the narrow laneway with the towering corn on either side. Wait a minute, was that a banana? He had to whip his head back around to face the front after his eyes had stuck on what he swore was a bunch of bananas on a corn stalk.

The front of the cruiser started to angle up as the incline of the road increased sharply. He was in farm land not mountains. What was going on? The road banked hard to the right before the corn dropped away and he was staring down the side of a mountain that he was climbing higher and higher on.

The road spiraled left as he kept following the red truck as it disappeared into the clouds. His lights flashed on the clouds making them look like red and blue cotton candy. He could barely see the nose of the cruiser as he inched along but he could still see the truck's taillights in front of him so he knew there was at least still a road in that direction.

Finally the clouds dissipated and the red truck's brakelights flared to life. The engine turned off and the truck sat silent. He could see a figure sitting in the driver's seat. He parked the cruiser and opened his door. The strong smell of sulfur hit his nose but he kept his eyes on the truck. He had a feeling that if he looked away, it would disappear.

“Do you know how fast you were going sir?” He asked when he got up to the rolled down window of the red truck. The man already had his license and insurance cards in hand at the window. He liked when they knew the drill and didn't give him a hard time about it.

“Only about eighty. I would've been going faster but ol’ Bessie here can't go any faster.” The man patted the steering wheel with affection. He looked down at the ID in his hands and it was like his brain went offline for a few seconds.

“Well, Mr. Opeman, looks like you're all good to go.” The officer said handing the papers back to the man in the truck. “Your truck sure is a beauty. What kind of gas mileage does she get?”

“She doesn't take gas.” The man said as he started the engine up. “Or at least not from the gas station. Has to refuel from volcanic sulfur. We're all good to go now though so you can just follow us back home so you don't get yourself lost somewhere really strange.” The man nodded back to the cruiser and he took the hint to go get in.

He started to follow the red truck again. They went back down through the clouds. The mountain turned to flat ground. The bananas turned to corn. The dirt road turned into a back country highway. The red truck pulled over and he pulled the cruiser around so they could talk to each other through the windows. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Opeman. Try to keep the speed to the limit from now on.”

“I've never met a limit that could contain me for long.” He said with a wink. “And it's The Ope Man.” With his parting words, ol’ Bessie engine roared and the truck shot down the road. He pulled the cruiser over and put it into park. He wasn't stupid enough to give chase again. He was perfectly fine being boring.