In Heaven, Everything Is Fine: Fiction Inspired by David Lynch

  A BRIEF HISTORY OF DAVID LYNCH

  David Lynch directs movies. They include Erasertooth, The Elephant Moon, Raisin, Polka Dot Velvet, Wild at Spleen, Twins: Danny DeVito Walk with Me, Lost TV Remote Control, The Perpendicular Story, Martin Luther King Boulevard, and Panda Empire. But David Lynch never wanted to be a filmmaker. Instead, he yearned for a career as a weatherman. Unfortunately, television stations blacklisted him due his tendency to emulate bad weather by spitting on the camera lens. Now David Lynch’s success as a director has made it possible for him to realize his dream. Now he has a captivated audience who watch his daily weather reports on davidlynch dot com. Rather than spitting on the camera to emulate bad weather, he now dumps buckets of severed ears, apple pie, and his own brand of coffee. Today is cloudy with a chance of showers. Today, David Lynch was really hungry and sleepy, so he consumed the contents of his bad weather bucket. He looks toward his digital camera, panicked, wondering if he should spit on it. An aircraft carrier smashes into the weather report studio and transforms into Michael Bay. Michael Bay gives David Lynch a thumbs up and triggers a special effect that floods outer space and drowns the studio. David Lynch glances at the water, runs his fingers through his magnificent head of hair, and unleashes a disapproving hmph. The room becomes endless, red curtains fall from the spaces in between, a dwarf slowly dances. There is no time. Michael Bay falls in space, going faster and faster until his body bursts into flame. David Lynch chants a mysterious mantra as he transcendently meditates and ascends to heaven where everything is fine.

  – BRADLEY SANDS

  Eraserhead Press

  205 NE Bryant Street

  Portland, OR 97211

  WWW.BIZARROCENTRAL.COM

  ISBN: 978-1-62105-089-6

  Copyright © 2013 Individual Creators

  Cover Art Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Revert

  Interior Design by Cameron Pierce

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  All persons in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance that may seem to exist to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental or for parody or satirical purposes. This is a work of fiction.

  Printed in the USA.

  Table of Contents

  Finding Yourself as Someone Else

  Matthew Revert

  Hadley

  Ben Loory

  Where Walls Would Have

  Blake Butler

  Imprinting

  J. David Osborne

  Population: 2

  Cody Goodfellow

  Nightbomb

  Violet LeVoit

  Friendship Is Niceness And

  Sam Pink

  Portents of Past Futures

  Jeffrey Thomas

  Beast With Two Backs

  Garrett Cook

  Lou Reed Sings: "This Magic Moment"

  Andrew Wayne Adams

  Zygote Notes On The Imminent Birth of a Feature Film As Yet Unformed

  John Skipp

  A Love Song to Frank Booth

  Edward Morris

  Girl From Iowa

  Zack Wentz

  Blue Velvet Cake

  Laura Lee Bahr

  Trembler

  Kevin Sampsell

  A Model Made Out Of Card or, The Elephant Man And Other Reminisences

  Gabriel Blackwell

  Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me

  Blake Butler

  Hipster Hunter

  Jeff Burk

  Miseryhead

  Michael J. Seidlinger

  First Movement

  Suzanne Burns

  Lady of Arson

  Jarrett Middleton

  The Class of Edun High

  Matty Byloos

  Umbilicus Rex

  Chris Kelso

  Inland Where Secrets Lie

  Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.

  Gloria

  Kirsten Alene

  Hot Dog (Bring Protection)

  Kevin Sampsell

  Nubs

  Jeremy C. Shipp

  Outlier

  Jody Sollazzo

  Colne

  Liam Davies

  Persistence Hunting

  Jeremy Robert Johnson

  The Garage Door

  Kris Saknussemm

  Night Films

  Mike Kleine

  These Are the Fables

  Amelia Gray

  Sextape

  Simon Logan

  The Drowsy Man Dreams

  Nick Mamatas

  Teatro Grottesco

  Thomas Ligotti

  Hinterkaifeck Again

  Nick Antosca

  The Implied Horror of David Lynch

  David J

  For Jack Nance

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FINDING YOURSELF AS SOMEONE ELSE 005

  Matthew Revert

  HADLEY 013

  Ben Loory

  WHERE WALLS WOULD HAVE 018

  Blake Butler

  IMPRINTING 024

  J. David Osborne

  POPULATION: 2 033

  Cody Goodfellow

  NIGHTBOMB 045

  Violet LeVoit

  FRIENDSHIP IS NICENESS AND IS 047

  Sam Pink

  PORTENTS OF PAST FUTURES 059

  Jeffrey Thomas

  BEAST WITH TWO BACKS 069

  Garrett Cook

  LOU REED SINGS “THIS MAGIC MOMENT” 076

  Andrew Wayne Adams

  ZYGOTE NOTES ON THE IMMINENT BIRTH 082

  OF A FEATURE FILM AS YET UNFORMED

  John Skipp

  A LOVE SONG TO FRANK BOOTH 093

  Edward Morris

  GIRL FROM IOWA 095

  Zack Wentz

  BLUE VELVET CAKE 100

  Laura Lee Bahr

  TREMBLER 109

  Kevin Sampsell

  A MODEL MADE OUT OF CARD 111

  OR, THE ELEPHANT MAN AND

  OTHER REMINISCENCES

  Gabriel Blackwell

  TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME 129

  Blake Butler

  HIPSTER HUNTER 132

  Jeff Burk

  MISERYHEAD 140

  Michael J Seidlinger

  FIRST MOVEMENT 148

  Suzanne Burns

  LADY OF ARSON 159

  Jarret Middleton

  THE CLASS OF EDUN HIGH 168

  Matty Byloos

  UMBILICUS REX 176

  Chris Kelso

  INLAND WHERE SECRETS LIE 185

  Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.

  LAKE STREET 200

  MP Johnson

  GLORIA 209

  Kirsten Alene

  HOT DOG (BRING PROTECTION) 225

  Kevin Sampsell

  NUBS 229

  Jeremy C. Shipp

  OUTLIER 235

  Jody Sollazzo

  COLNE 248

  Liam Davies

  PERSISTENCE HUNTING 255

  Jeremy Robert Johnson

  THE GARAGE DOOR 271

  Kris Saknussemm

  NIGHT FILMS 278

  Mike Kleine

  THESE ARE THE FABLES 284

  Amelia Gray

  SEXTAPE 287

  Simon Logan

  THE DROWSY MAN DREAMS 296

  Nick Mamatas


  TEATRO GROTTESCO 301

  Thomas Ligotti

  HINTERKAIFECK AGAIN 318

  Nick Antosca

  THE IMPLIED HORROR OF DAVID LYNCH 323

  David J

  FINDING YOURSELF AS SOMEONE ELSE

  MATTHEW REVERT

  At one time or another, everyone in this diner has been in a movie, but none of them will be remembered for it. They never stop acting in that one role they thought would be their big break. They sit in booths manufactured in the 50s, and rotting with age. A jukebox off to one side churns out Weimer era vaudeville music filtered through dusty grooves on overworked vinyl.

  Dean Mensberg sits in the same booth as every other day, across from his companion, Harry Slocomb. Dean wears a grey leisure suit that he may have been born in. It sucks at his body, choking out sweat that spots his forehead. Harry is older, hunched over as if perpetually picking up a coin he once found on one of his luckier days. Over time, his eyebrows have slowly grown over the bridge of his nose to form one. The frown it forms is infused with desperation rather than anger.

  Harry scrutinises the orange paper napkin that sits on the table before him. He brings his head down low until his ear kisses the formica. He raises his arm before he raises his head. It floats naked above the two of them, causing Dean discomfort.

  “What’s with the hand?” he asks Harry.

  Harry tilts his head toward the napkin, his arm becoming more rigid with the passing seconds.

  “What’s with the hand?” Dean asks again.

  “Look at the napkin,” replies Harry.

  Dean directs his gaze at Harry’s napkin, studying it, willing himself to see what Harry sees. When he sees it, an asthma attack erupts from Dean that chokes his face red and puffs his eyeballs. He fumbles around his jacket pocket, fetching a string of rosary beads. Which he presses against his forehead until the asthma subsides. Once composure has been regained, Dean raises his hand to match Harry’s. They are prepared to keep their hands raised for as long as it takes.

  The hours pass and the Los Angeles sun begins its descent, casting neon pink light, which spills through the diner windows, giving birth to the darkness of a shadow’s shadow. Except Harry and Dean, whose hands remain raised, the daytime occupants of the diner have been replaced by a different breed, comfortable within the hidden depths the night has to offer. An urban circus of Hollywood tragedy swan about the diner until they reach their regular seats. Each prepares to relive nightly scenes etched into despairing, hopeless memories.

  Two men approach Dean and Harry, wearing the football uniforms of teams long since disbanded, wondering why their regular booth is already occupied. One of the men accents his football uniform with a Stetson cowboy hat while the other wears a do-rag. They sport similar beards, which are tucked into their collars. The one with the cowboy hat slams both fists on the table.

  “Get the fuck away from our fucking table you fucking motherfuckers,” he yells.

  “That can’t happen, friend,” says Dean.

  The man in the do-rag saddles into the booth beside Dean, drapes an arm over his shoulder and begins staring at his raised hand.

  “What’s with the fucking hand?” he asks.

  Dean motions toward Harry’s napkin with a tilt of his head. Both football men glance at the napkin carefully and, sometime later, begin to twitch and yelp.

  “I’m sorry, man,” stutters the one in the cowboy hat. “It’s just . . . this is our booth. We’ll leave you to it . . . maybe come check back later.”

  “You guys need a waitress,” says the one in the do-rag before standing up and shouting, “Hey! We need a fucking waitress over here!”

  The two walk away, leaning heavily into each other. Dean and Harry remain with their hands raised.

  From the kitchen, a woman called Dianna watches Dean and Harry with their hands raised. She’s been watching them the whole time, wondering what to do, wondering if she’ll be blamed. This is Dianna’s first day as a waitress and she hasn’t yet amassed the courage to confront the problem. Dianna doesn’t understand why she’s here. An agent who never gave her his name should have called her back about a big job days ago. She had danced for him and his friends. She removed clothes and exposed parts of her body she didn’t know she had. The agent, a short Italian man with thick, black chest hair, had asked her to. He and his friends encircled Dianna until she could feel the heat from their bodies. She let each one take turns fucking her while the others watched and barked orders. She remembers the red velvet ceiling of the VIP room she was taken to. It suggested an alternate world, one Dianna had long dreamed about. This was a world of happiness and love. The path to such a world involved shame and hatred, but it is a price worth paying, for one must be prepared to pay anything for love. And for Dianna, love is something she is nothing without. These men merely fucked a shell that looked like her. The real Dianna will forget about these men. Until she receives the call however, she remembers.

  Dianna glances up at the grease staining the kitchen ceiling and then back toward Dean and Harry. A gaunt figure dressed as a concierge with a scarlet red rose in his breast pocket approaches Dianna from behind. He places spindly fingers on each of her shoulders and whispers into her ear with thick, warm breath, “You should go and assist the gentlemen.”

  Dianna smells cigarettes and spiced meat on his breath, which both sickens and comforts her. She turns around to face the man. The one thought that swarms Dianna is, This is The Magicman.

  “I’m going to assist the gentlemen,” she says.

  “Yes . . . assist the gentlemen,” The Magicman repeats.

  Dianna sits down and straps on a pair of roller skates, studying herself in a mirror while The Magicman watches from afar, inhaling with lysergic disinterest on a cigarette. Dianna studies this man’s reflection in the mirror and wonders who he is. He is gone before she has a chance to enquire—not that Dianna would. This man has an eternity about him that doesn’t lend itself to explanation.

  She stands up, feeling the added weight of the roller skates attached to her feet, preparing to provide assistance. She studies herself once more in the mirror, blowing her reflection a kiss through blueberry lipstick. The reflection of The Magicman reappears, but when Dianna turns around to face the reflection’s source, there is nothing. She rolls into the diner, the residual echo of The Magicman’s fingers burning on her shoulders.

  Harry and Dean direct their attention toward Dianna as she rolls toward them. The wheels of her roller skates squeak like piglets, attracting the attention of all who hear. For a brief moment, the souls in the diner are removed from their own broken fantasies. Diana feels the eyes upon her and represses the inexplicable urge to dance. Harry tenses his arm in anticipation as she draws nearer. The peach scent of Dianna’s bargain bin perfume reaches Harry and Dean’s booth before she does, and by the time she has caught up, mild intoxication has crawled up their nostrils. Harry’s arm collapses to the table top, knocking over the salt and peppershaker.

  “How can I help you gentlemen?” Dianna asks.

  Harry clenches his fists and brings both toward his chest.

  Hyperventilation soon follows.

  “The napkin,” says Dean. “What’re you going to do about the napkin?”

  Dianna’s eyes widen as the problem begins to dawn on her.

  “Oh gosh . . . I’m so, so sorry. I’ll have this sorted immediately.”

  She stumbles as she rushes back toward the kitchen, trying to keep the tears inside.

  Dean clutches Harry’s arms by each wrist and forces them straight. He begins a slow, exaggerated breathing technique that he wills Harry to mimic. Harry slowly catches on and his arms and lungs finally relax.

  “It’s fine,” says Harry. “We’re working this out.”

  They both stare at the inert napkin, studying the shadowy mystery of its folds, knowing that whatever lurks within is anything but inert.

  Dianna returns with the man they call ‘The Cooker.’ He’s r
esponsible for reheating and/or frying all the food. The Cooker is a Dominican man of slight stature. His face is caked in white powder with rouged cheeks. Dianna points the napkin out to The Cooker, whose face scrunches in disgust.

  “How’d this happen?” he asks.

  “It may have been The Magicman,” says Dianna, talking more to herself than anyone else.

  The Cooker takes a moment to center himself before forcing a grin, which he flashes at Harry. The Cooker’s teeth are too big for his mouth, as if the slightest shake of the head will forfeit them.

  “I cannot begin to apologize enough, sir. This is not the way it’s supposed to work.” He places a hand on Dianna’s shoulder and squeezes. “Please be so kind as to fetch the gentleman a new napkin, and I would urge you to exercise the utmost care.”

  Dianna nods and rolls back toward the kitchen. The Cooker watches her disappear then turns toward the napkin. He slams his hand on the table, crushing the napkin, and whatever may be inside. He scrunches the napkin in his hand, concentrating on the task while Harry and Dean watch on. After what seems like a calculated passage of time, The Cooker buries the napkin deep within his trouser pocket. Dianna rolls back to the booth with a new napkin in tow and holds it aloft for all to examine. The Cooker moves his nose toward the new napkin and inhales.

  “Is this satisfactory, sir?”

  Harry cranes his neck to inspect the napkin and Dean cranes his neck to inspect Harry. Eventually Harry nods in approval and a collective sigh of relief wafts from the four. The Cooker nods toward Dianna, who places the napkin before Harry.

  “What can I get you, darling?” asks Dianna.