House of Leaves (39 page)

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By the end of the first night, Tom has begun to feel the terrible strain of that place. At one point he even threatens to abandon his post. He does not. His devotion to his brother triumphs over his own fears. Remaining by the radio, “[Tom] gnaws on boredom like a dog gnawing on a bone while all the time eyeing fear like a mongoose.
[248—
Ibid., p. 249.
]

Fortunately for us, some trace of this struggle survives on his Hi 8 where Tom recorded an eclectic, sometimes funny, sometimes bizarre history of thoughts passing away in the atrocity of that darkness.

Tom’s Story

[Transcript]

Day 1: 10:38

[Outside Tom’s tent; breath frosting in the air]

Who am I kidding?
A place
like this
has
to be haunted. That’s what happened to Holloway
and his
team—the ghosts got ‘em.
That’s
what will happen to Navy
and
me. The
ghosts will
get us. Except he’s with Reston. He’s not alone. I’m alone.
That
Just
figures.
Ghosts
always
go first for the one who’s alone. In
fact, I bet
they’re here right now.
Lurking.

Day
1:
12:06

[In order to
maintain
contact, it
was

necessary to set up the radio outside of

the tent)

Radio
(Navidson): Tom, we found another neon
marker.
Most of it’s gone. Just a
shred.
We’re
laying
down
line and
proceeding.

Tom into radio:
Okay Navy.
See any ghosts?

Radio
(Navidson): Nothing. You a little spooked?

Tom:
Lighting
up a fat one.

Radio
(Navidson): If it gets too much for you, go back. We’ll be
airight.

Tom: Fuck yourself Navy.

Radio
(Navidson):
What?

Tom: Doesn’t he go
around
autographing lightbulbs?

Radio
(Navidson): Who?

Tom: Watt.

Radio (Navidson): What?

Tom: Nevermind. Over. Out. Whatever.

[Changing channels]

Toni: Karen, this is Tom.

Radio (Karen): I would hope so. How’s Navy’?

Tom: He’s fine. Found another marker.

Radio (Karen): And Billy?

Tom: Fine too.

Radio (Karen): How are you managing?

Tom: Me? I’m cold, I’m scared shitless, and I feel like I’m about to be eaten alive at any moment.

Otherwise, I’d say I’m fine.

Day 1:
15:46

[Inside tent]

Okay, Mr. Monster. I know you’re there and you’re planning to eat me and there’s nothing I can do about that, but I should warn you I’ve lived for years on fast food, greasy fries, more than a few polyurethane shakes. I smoke a lot of weed too. Got a pair of lungs blacker than road tar. My point being, Mr. Monster, I don’t taste so good.

Day
1:
18:38

[Outside tent]

This is ridiculous. I don’t belong here. No one belongs here. Fuok you Navy for bringing me here. I’m a slob. I like lots of food. These things I consider accomplishments. I am not a hero. I am not an adventurer. I am Tom the slow, Tom the chunicy, Tom the stoned, Tom about to be eaten by Mr. Monster. Where are you Mr. Monster, you stinking bastard? Sleeping on the job?

Day 1: 21:09

[Outside tent]

I’m sick. I’m freezing to death. I’m going. [He throws up]

This is not fun. This isn’t fair.

[Pause]

I think there’s a game on tonight.

Day
1:
23:41

[Outside tent]

Tom: What kind of voices?

Radio (Karen): Daisy doesn’t know. Chad said
they
sounded like a few people, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Tom: Book me a flight to the Bahamas.

Radio (Karen): Are you kidding, book a flight for the whole family. This is absurd.

Tom: Where’s that bottle of bourbon when you need it? [Pause] Hey, I better sign off. Don’t want a bunch of dead batteries on my hands.

Radio (Karen): Tell him I love him, Tom.

Tom: I already did.

Day
2:
00:11

[Outside tent; smoking a joint]

I call this “A Little Bedtime Story For Tom.”

A long time ago, there was this captain and he was out sailing the high seas when one of his crew spotted a pirate ship on the horizon. Right before the battle began, the captain cried out, “Bring me my red shirt!” It was a long fight but in the end the Captain and his crew were victorious. The next day three pirate ships appeareth Once again the captain cried out, “Bring me my red shirt!” and once again the captain and his men defeated the pirates. That evening everyone was sitting around, resting, and taking care of their wounds, when an ensign asked the captain why he always put on his red shirt before battle. The captain calmly replied, “I wear the red shirt so that If I’m wounded, no one will see the blood. That way everyone will continue to fight on unafraid.” All the men were moved by this great display of courage.

Well the next day, ten pirate ships were spotted. The men turned to their captain and waited for him to give his usual command. Cairn as ever, the Captain cried out, “Bring me my brown pants.”

Day 2: 10:57

[Inside tent]

Radio (Navidson): Tom? [Static] Tom, you read me?

Tom: (Going outside to the radio) What time is it? (Looking at his watch) 11 AM! Jesus, did I sleep well.

Radio (Navidson): Still no sign, except for [Static] markers [Static] over.

Tom: Say again Navy. You’re fading.

Day
2:
12:03

[Outside tent]

This punker gets on a bus and takes a seat. His hair’s all green, he’s got brigh.tly colored tattoos covering his arms and piercings all over his face. Feathers hang from each earlobe. Across the aisle sits an old man who proceeds to stare at him for the next fifteen miles. Eventually the pumker gets pretty unnerved and blurts out:

“Hey man, didn’t you do anything crazy when you were young?”

Without missing a beat, the old man replies:

“Yeah when I was In the Navy, I got drunk one night in Singapore and had sex with a Bird of Paradise. I was just wondering if you were my son.”

Day 2: 13:27

[Outside tent]

I feel like I’m in a goddamned refrigerator, that’s what. So what I want to know is, where’s all the goddamn food? God knows I could use a drink.

Day 2: 14:11

[Inside tent]

A monk joins an abbey ready to dedicate his life to copying ancient books by hand. After the first day though, he reports to the head priest. He’s concerned that all the monks have been copying from copies made from still more copies.

“If someone makes a mistake,” he points out. “It would be impossible to detect. Even worse the error would continue to be made.”

A bit startled, the priest decides that he better check their latest effort against the original which is kept in a vault beneath the abbey. A place only he has access to.

Well two days, then three days pass without the priest resurfacing. Finally the new monk decides to see if the old guy’s alright. When he gets down there though, he discovers the priest hunched over both a newly copied book and the ancient original text. He is sobbing and by the look of things has been sobbing for a long time.

“Father?” the monk whispers.

“Oh Lord Jesus,” the priest wails. “The word is ‘celebrate’.”

Day 2: 15:29

[Outside tent; smoking a joint;

coughing; coughing again]

Did you expect oration Mr. Monster? Or maybe just a little expectoration?

[Coughs and spits]

Navy taught me that one.

Day
2:
15:49

[Outside tent]

Tom: Hey, uh, Karen, I’ve got a bit of the munchies going on here. Do you think you could order me a Pizza.

Radio (Karen): What?!

Tom: When the delivery boy comes to the door just tell him to take it to the fat guy at the end of the hail. Two miles down on the left.

Radio (Karen): [Pause] Tom, maybe you should come back.

Tom: No maybe about it. Is there any lemon meringue left?

Day 2: 16:01

[Inside tent]

There once was a poor man who walked around without shoes. His feet were covered in calluses. One day a rich man felt sorry for the poor man and bought him a pair of Nikes. The poor man was extremely grateful and wore the shoes constantly. Well after a year or so, the shoes fell apart. So the poor man had to go back to running around barefoot, only now ail his calluses were gone and his feet got all cut up and soon the cuts became infected and the man got sick and eventually, after they cut off his legs, he died.

I call that particular story “Love, Death & Nike.” A real cheer me up story for Mr. Monster. That’s right! All for you. Oh and something else: fuck you Mr. Monster.

Day 2:
16:42

[Outside tent]

The seven dwarves went to the Vatican and when the Pope answered the door, Dopey stepped forward: “Your Excellency,” he said. “I wonder if you could tell me if there are any dwarf nuns in Rome?”

“No Dopey, there aren’t,” the Pope replied.

Behind Dopey, the six dwarves started to titter.

“Well, are there any dwarf nuns in Italy?” Dopey persisted.

“No, none In Italy,” the Pope answered a little more sternly.

A few of the dwarves now began to laugh more openly.

“Well, are there any dwarf nuns in Europe?”

This time the Pope was much more firm.

“Dopey, there are no dwarf nuns in Europe.”

By this point, all the dwarves were laughing aloud and rolling around on the ground.

“Pope,” Dopey demanded. “Are there any dwarf nuns In the whole world?”

“No Dopey,” the Pope snapped. “There are no dwarf nuns anywhere in the world.”

Whereupon the six dwarves started Jumping up and down chanting, “Dopey fucked a penguin! Dopey flicked a penguin!”

Day 2: 17:18

[Outside tent]

Here’s a riddle: who makes a better house? A framer? A welder? A form builder? Give up? A grave maker! ‘Cause his house lasts until judgment day! Okay that’s a stupid joke. An old Sunday school joke, actually.

Day
2:
18:28

[Inside tent]

Now Mr. Monster looks like a frog, a little gribbbb-it frog when suddenly 00000h, little frog has become a…
uh..
.
piglet.

[By carefully positioning his halogen lamp, Tom is able to cast hand shadows on the back wall of his tent. He conjures up a whole menagerie of creatures.]

Yes a piggy wiggy creature just olnking along when..
.
uh-oh an elephant! Look at that, the piglet has turned into an elephant. Jesus and look at the size of that elephant, it could…
ooops, well I’ll be, it’s turned into a woodpecker, oh, now it’s a snail, hinmm or how about a praying mantis, a sea urchin, a dove maybe, a tiger, or even this..
.
a wascawwy wabbit, and then all of a sudden..
.
oh no Mr. Monster, don’t do that…
but Mr. Monster does, turning into a dragon. Yup, that’s right folks, a mean, no game playing, flesh eating dragon. And you say you want to eat me? Sure, sure..
.
Except for one thing, just when Mr. Monster thinks he’s gonna turn Tom the hefty into Tom the short rib, Tom unleashes his secret weapon.

[As the dragon on the tent wail turns toward Tom and opens its mouth, Tom gets ready to turn off the halogen with his foot.]

Ah ha, Mr. Monster! Bye-Bye baby!

[Click. Black.]

[249—Taking into account Chapter Six, only Tom’s creatures, born out of the absence of light, shaped with his bare hands, seem able to exist in that place, though all of them are as mutable as letters, as permanent as fame, a strange little bestiary lamenting nothing, instructing no one, revealing the outline of lives really only visible to the imagination.

And tonight as I copied this scene down, I began to feel very bad. Maybe because Tom’s antics only temporarily transform that place into something other than itself, though even that transformation is not without its own peculiar horror; for no matter how many creatures he flings on the wall of his tent, no matter how large or how real they may appear, they still all perish in a flood of darkness. No Noah’s ark. Nothing safe. No way to survive. Which may have had something to do with my outburst at the Shop today.

I was in some weird kind of jittery daze. Everyone was there, Thumper, my boss, the usual visitants, along with some depraved biker who was in the middle of getting an octopus carved into his deltoid. He kept blathering on about the permanence of ink which I guess really got to me because I started howling, and loud too—real loud—spit sputtering off my lips, snot shooting out of my nose.

“Permanent?” I shouted. “Are you fucking loopy, man?”

Everyone was shocked. The biker could have taught me a thing or two about the impermanence or at least the destructibility of flesh—in this case my flesh—but he was also shocked. Thumper came to my rescue, quickly escorting me outside and ordering me to take the day of f: “I don’t know what you’re getting messed up in Johnny but it’s fucking you up bad.” Then she touched my arm and I immediately wanted to tell her everything. Right then and there. I
needed
to tell her everything. Unfortunately, there was no question in my mind that she would think I was certifiable if I started rattling on about animals and Hand shadows, mutable as letters, as permanent as fame, a strange be— aww fuck, the hell with the rest. I choked down the words. Maybe I am certifiable. I came here instead. Which in an odd and round about way brings me to the Pekinese, the dog story I mentioned a ways back but didn’t want to discuss. Well, I’ve changed my mind. The Pekinese belongs here. With Tom’s Hand shadows.

It happened last December, a month before I’d ever heard of
Zampanô
, on the tail end of what had proved to be a rather dramatic November, All Souls Day commencing with Lude’s acquisition of a great deal of Ecstasy, a portion of which he sold to me at bulk rate.

“Hoss, this is our pass to paradise,” Lude had told me, and of course he was right.

Who cared if it was fall, it felt like spring. Lude led the way, zipping from club to bar, crashing Bel Air fetes, desert raves and any after hours open house Malibu mansion madness we could find out about. Remarkably, no matter how zealously guarded these events were—velvet ropes as impossible to transcend as concertina wire without a hand grenade—the pills were our hand grenades. Velvet blown aside with the release of just one tab. They got us in everywhere. Even if noses were already bloody with coke, lungs black with Cannabis or throats dry with bourbon. x was still something else entirely, a spine shivering departure from the regular banquet, offering plenty of love-simulated bliss-bloated diversions. And so it happened that that month—Novem nine and all mine November—Lude disappeared into his own bower of bentdom, while I wandered off and promptly found my own.

Not too long afterwards, Lude made a great show of sharing with me his official and most prodigious tally for that month. Something which, for some reason, I felt compelled to write down.