MIdnight Diner 1: Jesus vs. Cthulhu Read online

  COACH’S

  MIDNIGHT DINER

  A Collection of Interesting and Enjoyable Stories

  Which Will Undoubtedly Expand the reader’s

  Imaginations, and may cause insomnia due to

  the intense nature of some, and thus

  is not recommended for children or

  those with weak constitutions or

  heart Problems.

  COACH’S MIDNIGHT DINER

  A GENRE ANTHOLOGY

  EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

  Coach Culbertson

  CONTRIBUTING EDITOR

  Vennessa Ng

  INTERIOR LAYOUT DESIGN AND COVER CONSULTANT

  J. Mark Bertrand

  COPY EDITOR

  Kimberly Culbertson

  Coach’s Midnight Diner is published annually by ccPublishing, NFP, a 501(c)3 organization dedicated to advancing Christian literary writing. Mail can be sent to 60 W. Terra Cotta, Suite B, Unit 156, Crystal Lake, IL 60014-3548. Submissions are not accepted by mail.

  COPYRIGHT

  All works Copyright 2007 by the individual author credited. Anything not credited is Copyright 2007 by ccPublishing, NFP. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without prior written permission of ccPublishing, NFP.

  SUBMISSIONS

  Submissions are only accepted online at http://www.reliefjournal.com via our Online Submissions System. This is the 21st century. Submissions received by mail will not be read, looked at, returned, or reviewed in any way, unless the author is Stephen King. Otherwise, get with the program.

  Coach’s Midnight Diner

  is dedicated to my dad, Danny Culbertson, for teaching me the

  importance of drinking a good cup of coffee at diners and truck

  stops, Uncle Roy Carruthers for always asking if we have time

  for a cup of coffee after church, Dave Brumbaugh for drinking

  a thousand cups of coffee with me at Steak N’ Shake,

  Lisa Smith for giving me a job as a waiter at Steak N’ Shake

  when I was dead flat broke, my wife Kimberly who continues to

  go on crazy adventures with me which almost always include

  diners after midnight, and to waiters and waitresses in all-night

  diners everywhere, courageously ensuring that cups of coffee

  never run dry.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FROM THE COUNTER COACH CULBERTSON

  EDITOR’S CHOICE

  IN R’LYEH, JESUS WALKS CHRIS MIKESELL

  THE WAY STATION KEVIN LUCIA

  THE DEMON ROBERT N. JENNINGS

  JESUS VS CTHULHU

  WORK AND WORSHIP NEIL A. RIEBE

  BAVEL JENS RUSHING

  HORROR

  GARGOYLE J. MARK BERTRAND

  THE LOOKING GLASS MELODY GRAVES

  THE WATER RISES NATHAN KNAPP

  THIEF AT THE ALTAR CAROLINE MISNER

  HARDBOILED/MYSTERY/CRIME

  DOOR TO DOOR CHARLES BROWNING

  NIGHT TRAIN TO BERLIN SUZAN ROBERTSON

  LAST TRIP TO CRYSTAL MOON R.M. OLIVER

  BLIND DOG DETECTIVE S.J. KESSEL

  AMERICAN ANGEL MICHAEL MEDINA

  ALMOST A HERO MIKE DELLOSSO

  PARANORMAL /ARCHETYPAL EXPLORATION

  POLLY’S MUSE MKE DURAN

  SALVATION OF SANCHO ROBERT S. GARBACZ

  DELUGE MATT MIKALATOS

  THE GIFTOF THE MAGI IF THE MAGI HAD BEEN BIG IDIOTS PAUL LUIKART

  THAT ONE THAT HAPPENS IN A DINER

  ELVIS LIVES JENNIFER J. EDWARDS

  SANCTUARY LINDA GILMORE

  FROM THE COUNTER

  COACH CULBERTSON

  Diners are not evil or good by human standards of morality, they just simply are. We all know this. It is this alien and eternal aspect of diners that allows them to continue on in our collective consciousness as an enduring icon throughout time and space. Sure, the forms of the diner have changed. Inns, pubs, a hundred other archetypes of the diner have allowed connections, nourishment, community and refreshment to occur in neutral space for ages.

  As I sit here in a diner almost exactly like the one I used to manage ten years ago, my belief that God created diners as building blocks of the universe is reaffirmed. I have often thought there may be only one diner in the universe that manifests itself wherever it necessary. Despite that meandering thought, I am convinced that everyone at one time or another ends up in a diner somewhere. A nexus of the universe, if you will.

  Sometimes good things happen in diners, sometimes evil things. As a former third shift diner manager, I know that the strangest events happen after all the day-time people have gone to bed, and aliens, demons, saints, high school kids out past curfew, social outcasts, cops, criminals, individualists, bikers, veterans, and drunks all come to the one place that still has bright lights and a hot grill. Perhaps it’s the timelessness of the diner, perhaps it’s the energy of all the different personalities that walk through the doors, but regardless of what makes the reality of these oases possible, destinies are often altered and defined in a booth over a cup of coffee.

  Coach’s Midnight Diner is full of stories that point to elements of the human condition with no sugar coating. Stories of horror, mystery, crime, and the paranormal all point to things hidden inside of ourselves that may not kill us, but nonetheless can force an atrophy of the soul that results in quiet desperation if not faced. When these inner realities are acknowledged without prejudice, we may instead find a fullness of being that allows us to choose the next chapter of our story. Will we be hero, villain, victim, by-stander, leader, addict, wanderer, lover? Maybe, in any one given moment, everyone is all of these things, though only one facet is showing through. In the process of trying to become more and better than we are, or perhaps deciding which facet of ourselves maintains control, it is beneficial to examine any and all aspects of who and what we are in this moment, and decide who we ought to be in the next. These decisions often require a physical space for self-examination, which is why diners can be such mystical places. We must come to grips with the reality that God has placed the same endlessness of a diner in each of us, that we are real, and capable of doing wondrous amazing things, and also capable of cruel atrocities beyond current imagination. We all have to find that space in which we grasp our own reality, that we are real and step into the next chapter of our story.

  I think God is waiting for us to do just that. He’s been trying to show us who we are since the beginning of time, trying to bring us into a new chapter with Him. Of course, we’ve been so busy trying to be Him for the last couple of millennia that we’ve missed the diners along the way that help show us that space in which a conscious decision can open up the door to seeing things how they really are. We repeatedly buy into artificial mythologies that we are handed by society, religious and secular alike, and wrap ourselves up like self-indulgent sausages in fluffy comfortable pancakes of self-delusion and power mongering. He’s been waiting for millennia for us to shed our rotting pig-in-a-blanket mentalities and walk into a life of co-creation and fulfillment.

  In putting the Diner together, I’ve allowed each author full range of artistic expression, censoring none and backing the author’s play, whatever that may be. I believe that in order to pursue reality, we have to stop being afraid of being sullied by the “world” (whatever that means) and start looking reality straight in the eyes. Al
l of the authors drinking coffee and sharing stories in this diner have something important that speaks to these themes. As we began this project, I also challenged authors to bring me stories in two specific categories: Jesus vs. Cthulhu and That One that Happens in a Diner. I’ll showcase the winners in these categories and add a third piece as the Editor’s Choice.

  Chris Mikesell crashes into these themes in his Jesus vs. Cthulhu piece, “In R’lyeh, Jesus Walks.” Not only does he have the God of the Universe walk without fear into a place most would never think He would tread, he brings out a fascinating truth that our superheroes are what we know we could have been, and perhaps were meant to be. To the careful reader, his humor and unconventional insights will open up new ways to think about life and God.

  Kevin Lucia took home the award for That One Happens in a Diner. In his story “Way Station,” we see the space of decision that diners point to and allow. When an author comes to understand the reality of his own nature, he must choose to enter into creation or destruction. Kevin brings out the truth that we are amazingly gifted people, but our own gifts can be twisted into the very source of the world’s destruction. I’m sure that we’ll be hearing and seeing Lucia’s name more along the way, as long as he sets his italics button on stun instead of kill.

  Authentic dialog and quirky characters open up the can of illusion versus reality in Robert Jennings’s “The Demon.” Jennings’s characters wrap themselves in their own subjective perceptions, ignore objective reality, and face terrifying consequences as a result. How often do we rely on our own idea of what’s real instead of pursuing truth, regardless of what we may discover? Robert’s piece just knocked me out, and I’m proud to give this work the Editor’s Choice Award. I do hope that Robert’s law practice does not rob the world of his writing gift, and that his works will continue to see print.

  This first edition of Coach’s Midnight Diner has a Jesus Vs. Cthulhu angle. I can’t believe no one’s done this before, at least to my knowledge. H.P. Lovecraft’s writing is crucial to the horror/paranormal genre, and whether writers who work in this genre know it or not, his influence in this realm is pervasive and ubiquitous. Authors who endeavor to write horror and shy away from his work are depriving themselves of critical lessons in craft and understanding of Western horror. While I disagree with many of his presuppositions about the universe, his racist bent, and his love for cats, I find his work refreshing in its imaginations of other worlds and unearthly creatures. Christian authors especially would do well to read his works carefully.

  Lovecraft delighted in people taking his monsters and mythos and incorporating them into their own. While I have no idea what Howard might think of our renditions of his creations, I think that the juxtaposition of Cthulhu, a creature that is representative of nihilism, chaos, and emptiness, and Jesus, the Source of purpose, order, and fulfillment, is important for the times we live in. Seeking purpose to our lives is nothing new, but with so many options on the menu of popular culture, critical examination of what we are handed should be done without fear, without prejudice, and without freaking out every time something that doesn’t fit our Sunday School lesson perceptions is presented to us.

  A couple of thanks need to go out before I pay the bill and head out into the rain. To Yeshua ben David (most folks know Him as Jesus Christ), Who kicks serious ass, and has kicked mine more times than I care to think about (and will probably have to continue to) in order to keep me walking in the right direction with Him. To Vennessa Ng, who has rearranged her busy busy life to make room to ensure that the Diner maintained quality work. I am in her debt. To my wife Kimberly, the Editor-In-Chief of Relief, who ensured a high quality product and endured copious amounts of conversation about the nuances of this project (and who thankfully said yes when I proposed to her at 4:30AM in a diner). To J. Mark Bertrand who lent his genius to the interior layout, and also consulted on the typography on the cover. And of course, to you, dear patron, who spent your hard-earned cash on this book. Thanks for taking a chance on us, we hope you enjoy our work.

  As I walk out the door, I remember that we need to stop being afraid of the truth, regardless of what it is. Reality exists, regardless of whether we believe it or not, or whether anyone else does either. It will always stand up to scrutiny and question. We need to look reality in the eyes—literally or symbolically—and come to a place where decisions are made about what and who we will be. When we start to move towards reality, we inevitably end up sitting across from God in that metaphysical booth in that cosmic diner inside ourselves. In that space, we start to face up to truth, life and death, blessings and curses, and choices about who we are to be and thus what we are to do. And that, my dear Diner patrons, is a place that is either filled with ultimate terror or ultimate peace—so choose wisely.

  —Coach Culbertson

  Proprietor

  Coach’s Midnight Diner

  August 6, 2007

  IN R’LYEH, JESUS WALKS

  CHRIS MIKESELL

  The light in the throne room turned sour, changing gold to brass. At the foot of the dais, angels caught the cue and shifted their praises to a minor key.

  Jesus turned to his left. “He’s waking up.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” the Father replied—their old joke along with “another day, another ten cents on the dollar”—but the light and the music lent a sadness that while perhaps unintentional, was certainly not untrue.

  As Jesus walked down the steps in front of his throne, the angels parted but never halted their song.

  “Son,” a voice called out from behind him, “take Lucifer with you.”

  Alabaster pillars and niches lined the Hall of History, displaying bittersweet mementos from their endeavors to turn men’s hearts and minds to something greater than themselves. Zeus and Apollo, Odin and Thor, and down the hall it went: guises worn until mankind’s embellishment rendered them moot. As poorly as things often went with the Hebrew prophets and priests, at least they hadn’t strayed far from the visions revealed to them. Jesus grabbed a breastplate, red cape, and winged hat; the black leather breeches he put on both legs at once. After lacing up his boots, he hoisted Mjolnir, the Norse battle hammer, over his shoulder and headed down to Earth.

  Lucifer was pacing outside Marquam Hall in the Old Boston Convention Center. The devil—crimson, goat-horned, and pointy-tailed— was livid. You didn’t need to be omniscient to figure that out.

  “ ‘Come as you are,’ you said. ‘No pitchfork,’ you said . . . and then you show up looking like—” Lucifer’s scaly hide burned blood red and his spade-tipped tail twitched like a copperhead unsure where to strike. And he’d tried so hard, so long, to convince mankind that this wasn’t what he really looked like. “What’s going on?”

  “Comic book convention. Don’t worry—they’ll think you’re something out of Legend, or maybe a Jack Chick fan.”

  The main auditorium was packed: folding tables crowded with pictures— pre-autographed and not—bankers boxes full of plastic-bagged comic books, action figures, t-shirts. The walkways were just as full with collectors, gawkers, and fans—not to mention the people in costume: the trio of Ghostbusters, the guy in biker leathers and Ghost Rider mask, the twentysomething Wonder Woman holding a pug dog dressed in a miniature Men in Black suit. Thor, god of thunder, fit right in as he eased his way through the narrow aisles. Mjolnir rumbled softly as it swung by his side.

  Jesus smiled. All the heroes—action heroes, superheroes, the ordinary become something more—unstoppable. Humanity re-creating itself as it might have been, maybe even ought to have been. Virtue as distinct as logos emblazoned on primary-colored spandex.

  “Duuuude, bitchin’ costume,” a young man with a scrawny moustache shouted. The pin on his fatigue jacket read, “My other car is a silver surfboard.”

  While Jesus posed for a photograph with his new surfer buddy, Lucifer complained to an elderly man that no, he was not the Underwood meatspread spokesdevil, and no, he w
asn’t handing out free samples.

  At the head of the room, a panel of comic book artists answered questions for fans, the miked exchanges barely audible above the din. A ten-year-old girl asked the woman in the middle of the group, “What’s your favorite of all the stuff you’ve done?”

  “Hmmm, prob’ly my current gig. ‘Teen Tough-Guys’—it’ll be out this summer.”

  Never fails. Ask an artist about their favorite and it’s always what they’ve worked on last.

  Jesus shook hands with the young man (whose mustache looked a bit fuller) and headed down the aisle again.

  Lucifer stalked after him. “Couldn’t I at least have come as Red Skull?” “Hush. It’s right through here.”

  Jesus led the way through an unmarked side door, down the hallway, and stopped outside a door marked Janitor. Inside, behind mops and brooms and a floor waxer, a pair of filthy coveralls hung on the back of a door with No Admittance painted above it. When Lucifer closed the outside door behind him, Jesus turned the handle of the second door, and the pair headed down a concrete staircase. Yellow-and-black caution striping marked the edge of each step. Every twenty or so steps fluorescent lights buzzed and pulsed on below them, as the lights they had passed extinguished themselves. Within minutes there was no way to say where they were or how far they had gone. Nothing but fifty feet of staircase in the middle of nowhere.

  “What is this—”

  “Which part of hush confused you—the huh or the shhhh?”

  After about five hundred steps, the concrete treads and risers turned to wood, then chiseled stone. Several minutes after that, an oozy moss began appearing at the edge of the stone steps. By the time the stone gave way to hard-packed earth, the steps and walls were nearly covered with it. The fluorescent lights had ended with the wooden steps, replaced by oil-filled braziers. The smoke filtered into the moss on the walls and ceiling with a sonorous chuffling sound. Once the noise quieted, sickly orange flowerbuds blossomed out of the moss.