House Of Leaves - House of Leaves Part 20
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House of Leaves Part 20

Flint goes on to cover the second visit which [ I much repeats his observations concerning the first. The third visit, however, gives up the first th[ ]rn.

In another series of notes Tobe describes Holloway's first love: "At seventeen, he met a young woman named Eliz[]beth who he described to me as 'Beautiful like a doe. Dark eyes. Brown hair. Pretty ankles, kinda skinny and weak.' A short courtship ensued and for a brief time they were a couple.[ ] In Holloway's XXXXXXX [279-These Xs indicate text was inked out-not burned.], the relationship ended because he didn't [sic] the Varsity football squad. By his own admission he was never any good at 'team sports.' Her interest in him faded and she soon beg[ ] dating the starting tackle, leaving Holloway broken hearted with an increased sen[ ]e of [illegible] and inadequacy." [280-Flint, p. 53.]

Nancy Tobe was a fairly green therapist and took far too many notes. Perhaps she felt that by studying these pages later, she could synthesize the material and present her patient with a solution. She had not yet real[ I that her notes or her solutions would mean absolutely no[ 1g. Patients must discover their peace for themselves. Tobe [ ] only a guide. The solution is personal. It is ironic then that had it not been for Tobe's inexperience, the notes so intrinsic to achieving at least a fair understanding of Holloway's inner torment would never have come into existence. People always demand experts, though sometimes they are fortunate enough to find a beginner. [281-Refer back to Chapter 5; footnote 67. - Ed.]

On the fourth visit, Tobe [ ] transcribed Holloway's words verbatim. It is i[ ]possible to tell from Flint's text whether Tobe actually record[ ]d Hollow[ ] or just wrote down his words from memory: "I had already been out there for two days and then that morning, before dawn, I [ ] to the ridge and waited. I waited a long time and I didn't move. It was cold. Real cold. Up till then everyone had been talking about the big buck but no one had seen anything. Not even a rabbit. Even though I'd been deer hunting a few times, I'd never actually shot a deer, but with, well the football team [ ], Elizabeth gone like that, I was gonna set it right by dropping that big buck.

"When the sun finally came out, I couldn't believe my eyes. There he was, right across the valley, the [ ] buck tasting the air. [ ] I was a good shot. I knew what to do and I did it. I took my time, centered the reticule, let out my breath, squeezed slowly, and listened to that round as it cracked across the valley. I must have closed my eyes 'cause the next thing I saw the deer [ ] to the ground.

"Everyone heard my shot and [ ] Funny thing was, because of where I'd been, I was the last one to get there. My dad was waiting for me, just shaking his head, angry, and [ ]shamed.

"Look what you done boy,' he said in a whisper but I could have heard that whisper across the whole valley. "Look what you done. [ ] shot yourself a doe." [ ] I almost killed myself then but I guess I thought it couldn't get any worse. [ ] that was the worst. Staring at that dead doe and then watching my dad turn his back on me and just walk away." [282-Flint, p. 61.]

At this point Flint's analysis heads into a fairly pejorative and unoriginal analysis of vi[ ]lence. He also makes a little t[ ] much of the word "doe" which Holloway used to describe his first love E[ ]zabeth. However since Flint is not the only one to make this association, it is worth at least a cursory gl[ ]nce.

"A vengeance transposed on the wild," Flint calls Holloway's killing of the doe, implying that to Holloway's eye the doe had become Elizabeth. What Flint, however, fails to acknowledge is that with no certainty can he determine whether Hollow[ ]y described Elizabeth as a "doe" while he was going out with her [ ]r afterward. Holloway may have described her as such following the ill-fated hunting trip as a means to comp[ md his guilt, thus blaming himself not only for the death of the doe but for the death of love as well. In [ ] Flint's suggestion of brimming violence may be nothing more than a gross renaming of self[ ]reproach.

Flint [ ] argue that Holloway's aggressive nature was bound to su[]face in what he calls Navidson's [ ]Hall of Amplification."

Holloway's latent suicidal urges [ ] when Wax and Jed insist on turning back. He sees this (incorrectly) as an admission of failure, another failure, th[]s incr[ ]sing his sense of inadequacy. Holloway had over the years developed enough psychic defense mechanisms to avoid the destructive consequences of this self determine[ ]f defeat.

What made this incident different from all the rest was the [ ]ou[ ]e.

In many ways, Navidson's house functions like an immense isolation tank. Deprived of light, change in temperature and any sense of time, the individual begins to create his own sensory [ ], [I ] depen[ ]ng on the duration of his stay begins to project more and more of [ ] personality on those bare walls and vacant [ ]allways.

In Holloway's case, the house as well as everything inside it becomes an exten[ ]n o himself, e.g. Jed and Wax become the psy[ ]logical demons responsible for his failue [sic]. Thus his first act-to sh[ jt Wax-is in fact the beginning of a nearly operatic s[ ]i[ ide. 283-IbXXXXXX SuiXXXXXXX [ XXXXXX] [284-Inked out as well as burned.]

Certainly Flint [ ] not alone in emphasiz[ ]g the impl[ ]t violence i[ ]suicide. In 1910 at []conference in Vienna, Wilhelm Stekel cla[ ]med [ ] "no one killed himself unless he[]either wanted to kill another person [ ]r wished a[]other's death's [285-Ned H. Cassem, "The Person C[]nfronting Death" in The Ne [ ]Harvard Guide to Psychiatry ed. Armand M. Nicholi, jr[ I M.D. (C[ ]brid[]e: Harvard University Press, 1 [188), p. 743.] [ ]1983 Buie and Maltzberger described s[ ]cide [ ]resulting from "two types of imperative impulses: murder[]us hate and an ur[ ]ent need to es[ ]ape suff[]ring." [286-[ ]id., [ ] 744.]

Robert Jean Cam[ ]ell sums up t[ ]e psych[]dynamics of suic[ ]s as fol[ ]ws: sui[ ] or a suicide atte[ ]t is seen most freque[ ]ly to be an agg[ ]sive attack directed against a loved one or against society in ge[ ]al; in others, it may be a mis[ ]ded bid for attention or may be conceived of as a means of ef[ ]ting reunion with the id[ ]al love-object or m[ ]ther. That suicide [ In one sense a means of relea[ ]e for aggressive impulses is sup[ ]ed by the change of wartime suicide rates. In Wo[ ] War II, for example, rates among the participating nations fell, [ ]times by as much as 30%; but in ne[ ]l countries, the rates remained the same.

In involutional depressions and in the depr[ ]ed type of manic[]depressive psychosis, the following dynamic elements are of[ ]n clearly operative: the d[ ]essed patient loses the object that he depends upon for narcissistic s[ ]lies; in an atte[ ]t to force the object's return, he regre[]es to the oral stage and inc[ ]porates (swallows up) the object, t[]us regressively identi[]ing with the object: the sadism originally directed against the desert[] object is ta[ ]en up by the patient's sup[ ]go and is directed against the incorporated object, w[ ]h now lodges wit[ In the ego; suicide oc[ Is, not so much as an attempt on the ego's part to esc[ ]pe the inexorable demands of the superego, but rather as a[ ]enraged attack on the in [ ]orated object in retaliation []or its having dese[ ]d the pati[ ] in the first place? [287-Robert J[ ]n Campbell, M.D[ ] Psychiatric Dictionary (Oxford Univ[ ]ity Press, 1981) [ ] 608[]]

[It[ ]s added f[ ]r em[ ]asis]

Of course the anni[ ]il[ ]tion of [ ]self does not necessarily preclude the anni[ ]n of others. As is evident in sh[ ]ung sprees that culminate in suicide, an attack on the[ ]incorporated object" may extend first to [ ]attack on loved ones, co-work[ ] or even innocent by[ ]ders-a description, which ev[ ] Flint would agree, fits H[]Iloway.

Nevertheless th[ ]re are also numer[ Is objections to Flint[ ]s asser[ ] that Hollow[ i's suicidal disposition would within that place inevitabl[ ] lead to murder. The most enlight[ ]g refutation comes from Rosemary Enderheart w[ ]o not onl[ ]uts F[ ]in[ ] in his place but also reveals somet[ ]g new about Navidson's history: Where Flint's argument makes the impulse to destroy others the result of an impulse to destroy the self, we only have to consider someone with similar self-destructive urges who when faced with similar conditions did not attempt to murder two individuals [ ]

SUBJECT: Will "Navy" Navidson COMMENT: "I think too often too seriously a[]out killing myself."

Will Navidson was no stranger to s[ ]ide. It sat on his shoulder more often than not: "It's there before I sleep, there when I wake, it's there a lot. But as Nietzsche said, 'The t[]ought of suicide is a consolation. It can get one through many a bad night." (See Dr. Hetterman Stone's Confidential: An In[ ]view With Karen Green 19[ ]

Navidson often viewed his achievements with disdain, considered his direction vague, and frequently assumed his desires would [ ]ever be met by life [ ]o matter how f[ ]ly he lived it. However, unlike H[ ]ioway, he converted his d[ ]pair into art. He [ ]lied on his eye and film to bring meaning to virt[ ] everything he e[]count[ led, and though he paid the high price of lost interaction, he frequently conceived beautiful instances worthy of our time; what Robert Hughes famously referred to [ ] "Navidson's little windows of light."

Flint would [ ]test [ ] while both Holloway and [ ]vidson camped in the same dale of depression, they were very dif[ ]rent in[ ]viduals: Navidson was merely a photographer while, to quote F[ ]nt "Holloway was a hunter who [ I crossed the line into territories of aggress[]on,"

Flint sh[ ]ld have done his [ ]omework, if he thought Navidson never crossed that line.

In the 70's Navidson became a career p[ ]journ[ ]list and ultimately a famous one but at the begin[ ]ing of that de[]ade he wasn't carrying a Nikon. He was manning an M-60 with the 1St cav[ ]y at Rock Island East where he would eventually receive a Bronze Star for saving the l[]ves of two [ ] soldiers he dra[]ged from a burning personnel carrier. He[]ver, no longer has the medal. He sent it along with a [ ]oto of h[]s first kill to Richard Nixon to pr[]test the war. [288-Rosemary End[ ]art's How Have You Who Loved Ever Loved A Next Time? (New York: Times Books, 19[ ] p. 1432-1436).]

Unfortun[ ]ely when Navi[]son stumbled upon Hol[ l's H[ ]8 tapes, he had no idea their contents would [ ]spire such a heated and lasting debate over what l[]rked in the []art of that p[]ace. Despite the radically differ[]nt behavior pattern[] demonst[]ated by the hunter from Me[ ]mo[ ], Wi[ ]sin and the Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist[ ]in the house, The Hollow[ I Tape revealed that e[ ]ther one could just as easily have been devo[]r[]d in the same way. The gli[ ]se rescued from that t[ ]r[ ]b[]le [lark warned that while paths might differ, the end might no[ ].

The Hol[ ]y Tape "I'm lost. Out of food. Low on water. No sense of direction. Oh god...[ ]

So be[]ins The Holloway Tape-Holloway leering into the camera, a backdrop of wall, final moments in a man's life. These are jarring pieces, coherent only in the way they trace a de[]line.

Ove[ ]view: The opening card displays a quote from Gaston Bachelard's The Poetics of Space: "The dreamer in his corner wrote off the world in a detailed daydream that destroyed, one by one, all the objects in the world." [289-Le reveur, dans son coin, a raye le monde en une reverie minutieuse qui detruit un a un tous les objets du monde.]

There are thirteen parts. [ ]

They are separated by 3-seconds of white frame. In the upper n[]ht hand corner a number or word tracks the chronology, starting with "First," continuing with "2" thr[ ] "12" and ending with "Last." The typeface is the same Janson as issued by Anton Janson in Leipzig between 1660 and 1687.

These insertions were designed by Navidson. They [ ] and in no way alter the original segments.

Navidson reproduces Holloway's tape in its entirety.

Who can forget Holloway's grizzled features as he []ums the camera on hi[ ]self?

No comfort now. No hope of rescue or return.

"I deserve this. I brought this all on me. But I'm s[] sorry. I'm so[ ]rry," he says in Part 2. "But what does that matter? I shot them. I shot both of [ ]em. [Long pause] Half a canteen of water's all I've left. [Another pause] Shouldn't have let them get []way then I [ ]have returned, told everyone they g[ ]lost. . . lost." And with that last utterance, Holloway's eyes reveal who here is real[]y lost.

Despite Holloway's undeniable guilt, not since Floyd Collins became trapped in the Kentucky Sand Cave back in 1925 has there been such a terrible instance of suffering. Co[]lins remained alive for fourteen days and nights before he died. Despite the efforts of many men to free him from the squeeze, Collins never saw the light of day again. He only felt the ink[ ]darkness and cold [ ] in on him, bind him, kill him. All he could do was rave about angels in chariots and liver and onions and chicken sandwiches. [290- ]

Unlike Floyd Collins, no straight jacket of mud and rock holds Holloway. He can still move around, though where he moves leads nowhere. By the time he begins to video tape his final hours, he has [ iready recognized the complete hopelessness of the situation. Repeatin[] his identity seems the only mantra [ ]offers any consolation: "Holloway Roberts. Born in M[ ]om[ ]sin. Bachelor's from U. Mass." [291-In the epil[]gue of her bo[]k Fear Mantras (Cambridge: Harvard Un[ ]ress, 1995) Alicia Hoyle disc[ Ises Hollow[ ]y's l[]ck of fear training: "He didn[]t even pos[]es[] the ancient Hak-Kin-Dak man[ Ira" (p. [ 16). Earlier on she prov[]des a transl Ition of this hunter's utter[lnce ([ 1 26): "I am not a fool. I a[] wise. I will run from my fear, I w[]ll out distance my f[ ]r, then I will hide fr[ I my fear, I w[]ll wait f[]r my fear, I will let m[] fear run past mel] then I will follow my fear, I will track [ ] fear until I c[]n approach m[ lear in complete silence[] th[]n I will strike at m[] fear, I will charge my fe[ 1. I will grab h[]ld of my fear, I will sink my ft]ngers into my [lar, t[]en I will bite my fear, I w[]1l tear the thro[]t of my fear, I will bre[]k the neck of my fear, I wi[ I drink the blood of my fear, I [ ill gulp the flesh o[ ]my fear[] I will crush th[] bones of my fliarl land I will savor m[] fear, I will sw[]llow my fear, all []f it, and then I will digest []y fear unt[]l I can do nothing else but shit out my fear. In this w[]y will I be mad[] stronger[ ]] It is almost as if he believes preserving his identity on video tape can somehow hold what he is powerless to prevent: those endless contours of dark[]ess stealing the Hollow[ ] from himself. "I'm Holloway Roberts." he insists.

"Born in Menomome, Wi[ ]n. Bachelor's from U. Mass. Explorer, professional hunter,[ ]eth. [Long pause] This is not right. It's not fair. I don't [ ]serve to die."

Regrettably, the limited amount of light, the [ ]uality of tape, not to mention the constant oscillation between sharp and blurry (compliments of the Hi 8's automatic focus)[ ] barely c[ ]ure Holloway's bearded face let [lone anything else-not to imply that there exists an 'else'. Mainly a backdrop of darkness, which, as the police observed, could have [ len shot in any lightless room or closet. [ ]

In other words, the immen[ ]ity of Navidson's house eludes the frame. It exists only in Holloway's face, fear etc[ ] deeper and deeper into his features, the cost of dying paid out with p[]un[]s of flesh and e[]ch s[ ]allow breath. It is painful[ ] obvious the creature Holloway hunts has already begun to feed on him.

Parts 4[ ]6,[ ],1O & 1[] centre on Holloway's reiteration of his identity. Part 3, however, is different. It only lasts four seconds. With eyes wide open, voice hoarse, lips split and bleeding, Hol[ ]y barks "I'm not alone." Part 5 fo[]lows up with, "There's something here. I'm sure of it now." Part 8 with: "It's following me. No, it's stalking me." And Part 9: "But it won't strike. It's just out there waiting. I don't know what for. But it's near now, waiting for me, waiting for something. I don't know why it doesn't [ ] Oh god ... Holloway Roberts.

Menomonie, Wisconsin. [chambering a round in his rifle] Oh god[ ]." [292-Collette Barnholt (American Cinematographer, [ ]ber 2, [ ] 49) has argued that the existence of Part 12 is an impossibility, claiming the framing and lighting, though only slightly different from earlier and later parts, indicate the presence of a recording device other than Holloway's. Joe Willis (Film Comment, [ ] p. 115) has pointed out that Barnholt's complaint concerns those prints released after 199[1. Apparently Part 12 in all prints before [ ] and after 1993 show a view consistent with the other twelve. And yet even though the spectre of digital manipulation has been raised in The Navidson Record, to this day no adequate explanation has managed to resolve the curious enigma concerning Part 12.]

It is interesting to compare Holloway's behavior to Tom's. Tom addressed his [ lagon with sarcasm, referring to i[] as "Mr. Monster" while describing himself as unpalatable. Humor proved a p[]werful psychological sh[]e[]d. Holloway has his rifle but it proves the weaker of the two. Cold metal and gunpowder offer him ver[] little internal calm. Never[ ]less[ ]

Of course, Part 13 or rather "Last" of The Holloway Tape initiates the largest and perhaps most popular debate surrounding The Navidson Record. Lantern C. Pitch a[]d Kadina Ashbeckie stand on opposite ends of the spectrum, one favoring an actual monster, the other opting for a ratio[]al explan[]tion. Neither one, however, succeeds in [ ] a definitive interpretation.

Last spring, Pitch in the Pelias Lecture Ser[ ]es announced: "Of course there's a beast! And I assure you our belief or disbelief makes veiy little difference to that thing!" [293-Also see Incarnation Of Spirit Things and Lo[ ] by Lantern C. Pitch (New York: Resperine Press, 1996) for a look at the perils of disbelief.] In American Photo (May 1996, p. 154) Kadina Ashbeckie wr[]te: "Death of light gives birth to a creature-darkness few can accept as pure[]absence. Thus despite rational object[]ons, technology's failure is over[]un by the onslaught of myth." [294-Also see Kadina Ashbeckie, "Myth's Brood" The Nation, [ ] September, 19[ ]]

Except the Vandal known as Myth always slaughters Reason if she falters. [ ] Myth is the tiger stalking the herd. Myth is Tom's [ ]r. Monster. Myth is Hol[ ]y's beast. Myth is the Minotaur [295-At the heart of the labyrinth waits the Mi[ ]taur and like the Minotaur of myth it name is-[ Chiclitz treated the maze as trope for psychic concealment, it excavation resulting in (tragic [ ] reconciliation. But if in Chiclitz's eye the Minotaur war a son imprisoned by a father's shame, is there then to Navidson's eye an equivalent misprision of the [ ] in the depths of that place? And for that matter does there exist that chance to reconcile the not known with the desire for its antithesis?

As Kym Pale wrote: Navidon is not Minos. He did not build-the labyrinth. He only d[ ]covered it. The father of that place-be it Minos, Daedalus, [ ], St. Mark's God, another father who swore "Begone! Relieve me from the sight of your detested form.," a whole paternal line her following a tradition of dead sons-vanished long ago, leaving the creat[ ]e within all the time in history to forget, to grow, to consume the consequences of its own terrible fate. And if there once was a time when a [ ] slain[ ] that time has long since passed. "Love the lion!" "Love the lion." But love alone does not make you Androcles. And for your stupidity your head's crushed like a grape in its jaws. [296-Pale [ ] allusion to the li[ ] here [ ]. [123-At the risk of stating the obvious no woman can mate with a bull and produce a child. Recognizing this simple scientific fact, I am led to a somewhat interesting suspicion: King Minos did not build the labyrinth to imprison a monster but to conceal a deformed child- his child.] Reconciliation within is personal and possible; reconciliation without is probable. The creature does not know you, does not fear you, does not remember you, does not even see you. Be careful, beware [ ] [297-See Kym Pale's "Navidson and the Lion" Buzz, v [ ]ber, 199[ ], p. [ ]. Also revisit Traces of Death] [298-Whether you've noticed or not-and if you have, well bully for you-Zampano has attempted to systematically eradicate the "Minotaur" theme throughout The Navidson Record. Big deal, except while personally preventing said eradication, I discovered a particularly disturbing coincidence. Well, what did I expect, serves me right, right? I mean that's what you get for wanting to turn The Minotaur into a homie... no homie at all.]

Myth is Redwood. [299-See Appendix B.]And in Navidson's house that faceless black i[ ] many myths incarnate.

"Ce ne peut etre que lafin du monde, en avancant," Rimbaud dryly remarked. Suffice it to say, Holloway does not [ ]French for his end. Instead he props up his []i[]eo camera, ignites a magnesium flare, and crosses the room to the far end, where he slumps in the corner to wait. Sometimes he mumbles [ ]hi[lself, sometimes he screams obscenities [ ]to the void: "Bullshit! Bullshit! Just try and get me you motherfucker!" And then as the minutes creak by, his energy dips. "[ ] I don't want to die, this [ ]" words coming out like a sigh-sad and lost. He lights another flare, tosses it toward the camera, then pushes the rifle against his chest and shoots himself. [ ]Jill Ramsey Pelterlock wrote, "In that place, the absence of an end finally became his own end." [300-Jill Ra[ ]y [ ]t[ ]ock's "No Kindness" St. Pa[ ]. November 21, 1993.]

Unfortunately, Holloway is not entire[ ] s[ ]ssful. For exactly two minutes and 28 seconds he groans and twitches in his own blood, until fm[ ] he slip[] into shock and presumably death.301 Then for 46 seconds the 301Quite a few people have speculated that Chad-thanks to the perverse acoustic properties of the house-probably heard Holloway commit suicide. See page 320. Consider Rafael Geethtar ServagiG's Th Language of Tenure (New York: St. Martin's Press, lQ'?5), p. 13 where he likens Chad's experience to those of Roman's listening to Perilaus devilish chamber: "This unusual work of art war a life size replica of a bull. cast in solid brass, hollowed -out, with a trapor in the back, through which victims were placed. A fire was then lit beneath the belly slowly cooking anyone inside. A series of musical pipes in the ball's head translated the tortured screams into strange mf)sc. Supposedly the tyrant Phalaris killed the inventor Perilaus by placing him inside his own creation[ ] [302-Can't help thinking of old man Z here and those pipes in his head working overtime; alchemist to his own secret anguish; lost in an art of suffering. Though what exactly was the fire that burned him?

As I strain now to see past The Navidson Record, beyond this strange filigree of imperfection, the murmur of Zampano's thoughts, endlessly searching, reaching, but never quite concluding, barely even pausing, a ruin of pieces, gestures and quests, a compulsion brought on by- well that's precisely it, when I look past it all I only get an inkling of what tormented him. Though at least if the fire's invisible, the pain's not-mortal and guttural, torn out of him, day and night, week after week, month after month, until his throat's stripped and he can barely speak and he rarely sleeps. He tries to escape his invention but never succeeds because for whatever reason, he i compelled, day and night, week after week, month after month, to continue building the very thing responsible for his incarceration.

Though is that really right?

I'm the one whose throat is stripped. I'm the one who hasn't spoken in days. And if I sleep I don't know when anymore.

a A few hours drift by. I broke off to shuffle some feeling back into my knees and try to make sense of the image now stuck inside my head. It's been haunting me for a good hour now and I still don't know what to make of it. I don't even know where it came from.

Zampano is trapped but where may surprise you. He's trapped inside me, and what's more he's fading, I can hear him, just drifting off, consumed within, digested I suppose, dying perhaps, though in a different way, which is to say-yes, "Thou sees me not old man, but I know thee well"-though I don't know who just said that, all of which is unfinished business, a distant moon to sense, and not particularly important especially since his voice has gotten even fainter, still echoing in the chambers of my heart, sounding those eternal tones of grief, though no longer playing the pipes in my head.

I can see myself clearly. I am in a black room. My belly is brass and I am hollow. I am engulfed in flames and suddenly very afraid.

How am I so transformed? Where, I wonder, is the Phalaris responsible for lighting this fire now sweeping over my sides and around my shoulders? And if Zampano's gone-and I suddenly know in my heart he is very, very gone-why does strange music continue to fill that black room? How is it possible the pipes in my head are still playing? And who do they play for?

[]am[ ]reveals nothing else but his still body. Nearly a minute of s[ ]ence. In fact, the length is so absurd it alm[]st appears as if Navidson forgot to trim this section. After all there is nothing more to [ ] gained from this scene. Holloway is dead. Which is [ ]act[] when it happ[ ]ns.

The whole thing clocks in under tw[ ] seconds. Fingers of blackness slash across the lighted wall and consume Holloway. And even if[ I loses sight of everything, the tape still records that terrible giuwl, this time without a doubt, insi[]e the room.

Was it an actual cr[ ]t[ ]e? [303-Creature is admittedly 4 ]pretty clumsy description. Offspring of the Greek Koroc meaning "gurfeit', the implication of fullness provides a misleading irnpreion of the minol lr,4n-fact all references to the Minotaurf ]self rnut be viewed a uiy representative. Obviou1y, wtiii Holloway encounters pointed[]y not half man] half bull. [ ] something other, forever inhabiting[ ], unreadable [ ]nranting undeserved ontoloeical bnefit [ ]]

Or just the flare sputtering out? And what about the sound? Was it made by a be[ I or jus[ ] a[]other reconfig[]ration of that absurd space; like the Khumbu Icefall; product of [ ]ome peculiar physics?

It seems erroneous to assert, like Pitch, that this creat[ ]e had actual teeth and claws of b[ ]e (which myth for some reason [ I requires). [ ]t d[ ]d have claws, they were made of shadow and if it did have te[]th, they were made of darkness. Yet even as such the [ ] still stalked Holl[]way at every corner until at last it did strike, devouring him, even rollring, the last thing heard, the sound []f Holloway ripped out of existence. [As John Hollander [ ] "It would annihilate us all to see/ The huge shape of our being; mercifully? [ ) offers us issue and oblivion" thus echoing one more time, though not for the last time, [ ]endlessly[] in an ever unfolding [nd yet never opening sequence, [ ] lost on stone trails]]

ESCAPE.

[304-I've no decent explanation why Zampano calls this section "The Escape" when in footnote 265 he refers to it as "The Evacuation." All I can say is that this error strikes me as similar to his earlier waffling over whether to call the living room a "base camp" or "command post."

Unlike Navidson, Karen does not need to watch the tape twice. She immediately starts dragging suitcases and boxes out into the rain. Reston helps.

Navidson does not argue but recognizes that their departure is going to take more than a couple of minutes.

"Go to a motel if you want," he tells Karen. "I've still got to pack up all the video and film."

At first Karen insists on remaining outside in the car with the children, but eventually the lure of lights, music, and the murmur of familiar voices proves too much, especially when faced with the continuing thunderstorm howling in the absence of dawn.

Inside she discovers Tom has attempted to provide some measure of security. Not only has he bolted the four locks on the hallway door, he has gleefully established a rebarbative barricade out of a bureau, china cabinet, and a couple of chairs, crowning his work with the basinet from the foyer.

Whether a coincidence or not, Cassady Roulet has gone to great lengths to illustrate how Tom's creation resembles a theatre: Note how the china cabinet serves as a backdrop, the opposing chairs as wings, the bureau, of course, providing the stage, while the basinet is none other than the set, a complicated symbol suggesting the action of the approaching play. Clearly the subject concerns war or at the very least characters who have some military history. Furthermore the basinet in the context of the approaching performance has been radically altered from its previous meaning as bastion or strong hold or safe. Now it no longer feigns any authority over the dark beyond. It inherently abdicates all pretense of significance. [305-Cassady Roulet's Theater in Film (Burlington: Barstow Press, 1994), p. 56. Roulet also states in his preface: "My friend Diana Neetz at The World of interiors likes to imagine that the stage is set for Lear, especially with that October storm continuing to boom outside the Navidson's home."]

Karen appreciates Tom's work on this last line of defense, but she is most touched by the way he comically clicks his heals and presents her with the colours-blue, yellow, red, and green-four keys to the hallway. An attempt to offer Karen some measure of control, or at least sense of control, over the horror beyond the door.

It is impossible to interpret her thanks as anything but heartfelt. Tom offers a clownish salute, winning a smile from both Chad and Daisy who are still somewhat disoriented from having been awakened at five in the morning and dragged out into the storm. Only when they have disappeared upstairs does Tom lift up the basinet and pull out a bottle of bourbon.

A few minutes later, Navidson enters the living room carrying a load of video tape and film. In all the commotion following his return, he has not yet had a spare moment to spend with his brother. That all changes, however, when he finds Tom on the floor, his head propped up against the couch, enjoying his drink.

"Knock it off," Navidson says swiftly, grabbing the alcohol from his brother. "Now is not the time to go on a binge."

"I'm not drunk."

"Tom, you're lying on the floor."

Tom takes a quick glance at himself, then shakes his head: "Navy, you know what Dean Martin said?"

"Sure. You're not drunk if you can lie down without holding on."

"Well look," Tom mutters, lifting his arms in the air. "No hands."

Setting down the box he is carrying, Navidson helps his twin up.

"Here, let me make you some coffee."

Tom gives a noticeable sigh as he at last leans on his brother. Not till now has he been able to really face the crippling grief Navidson's absence had caused him or for that matter address the enormous relief he now feels knowing his twin did indeed survive. We watch as tears well in his eyes.

Navidson puts his arm around him: "Come on."

"At least when you're drunk," Tom adds, quickly wiping the wet from his face. "You've always got the floor for your best friend. Know why?"

"It's always there for you," Navidson answers, his own cheeks suddenly flushing with emotion as he helps his weaving brother to the kitchen.

"That's right," Tom whispers. "Just like you."

Reston is the one who hears it first. He is alone in the living room packing up all the radios, when from behind the hallway door comes a faint grinding. It sounds miles away, though still powerful enough to cause the basinet on the bureau to tremble. Slowly the noise gathers itself, growing louder and louder, getting closer and closer, something unheralded and unfamiliar contained in its gain, evolving into a new and already misconstrued sort of menace. Reston's hands instinctively grab the wheels of his chair, perhaps expecting this new evolution within the chambers of the house to shatter the hallway door. Instead it just dies, momentarily relinquishing its threat to silence.

Reston exhales.

And then from behind the door comes a knock. Followed by another one.

Navidson is outside loading a box of Hi 8 cassettes into the car when he sees the upstairs lights in the house go out one by one. A second later Karen screams. The pelting rain and occasional crack of thunder muffles the sound, but Navidson instinctively recognizes the notes of her distress. As Billy described the scene in The Reston Interview: Navidson's dehydrated, hasn't eaten shit for two days, and now he's dragging supplies out to the car in the middle of a thunderstorm. Every step he takes hurts. He's dead on his feet, in total survival mode, and all it takes is her voice. He drops everything. Lost some rolls of film to water damage too. Just tears through the house to get her.

Due to the absence of any exterior cameras, all experiences outside the house rely on personal accounts. Inside, however, the wall mounted Hi 8s continue to function.

Karen is upstairs placing her hair brushes, perfume, and jewelry box in a bag, when the bedroom begins to collapse. We watch the ceiling turn from white to ash-black and drop. Then the walls close in with enough force to splinter the dresser, snap the frame of the bed, and hurl lamps from their nightstands, bulbs popping, light executed.

Right before the bed is sheared in half, Karen succeeds in scrambling into the strange closet space intervening between parent and child. Conceptual artist Martin Quoirez observes that this is the first time the house has "physically acted" upon inhabitants and objects: Initially, distance, dark, and cold were the only modes of violence. Now suddenly, the house offers a new one. It is impossible to conclude that Holloway's actions altered the physics of that space. Nevertheless, it is impossible to deny that its nature seems to have changed. [306-Martin Quoirez on The L. Patrick Morning Show, KRAD, Cleveland, Ohio, October 1, 1996.]

Karen avoids the threat in her bedroom only to find herself in a space rapidly enlarging, the size swallowing up all light as well as Daisy's barely audible cries for help.

The darkness almost immediately crushes Karen. She collapses. Of course, there are no cameras at this point to show her lost in seizure. That history relies once again on The Reston Interview: Navy said it felt like he was running into the jaws of some big beast about to chomp down and as you saw later on, that's- that's exactly what that ugly fucker finally did.

[Reston chokes back tears]

Sorry... I'm sorry ... Awww fuck it still gets me.