The Unsorted BBS Collection/thegreatunsorted.tar/thegreatunsorted/texts/txtfiles_misc/supergot.txt

Text File | 1993-06-20 | 8KB | 136 lines

                       Written: 12-17-92
                          By: Arclight


             Ebenezer Pogue: A New England Super-Gothic
                (An extreme parody on Ethan Fromme)
  The deathly, cutting, insidious cold of the Rochester winter cut
into Ebenezer's epidermal layers as a darning needle into fine
silk. Even through his multiple layers of coarse sweaters, knitted
shirts, and "undergarments,"  he still felt the sharp, incisive,
penetrating blast of each successive gust of wind, the tiny
crystals of ice borne on the Hermes wings of the New England gale
striking his rosy cheeks like tiny missiles. Already the cold had
kept him from his betrothed for two additional hours, and he feared
he might be "without" her for another half. She had "sent" him
forth from their drab, melancholy second story flat so that he
might go to the jeweler's on 48th Street to inquire about an
engagement ring. She had long since explained to him what to look
for: a three carat diamond set with a "traditional" (as was the
vogue) twenty-four carat mounting. His purpose duly served, he was
homeward bound.
  As he trudged forth, ring in pocket, he recalled the events of
that morning in their "quaint little nestaway," as she called it.
  "Darling, wouldn't this be a simply lovely morning for a sled run
at the lake?" he suggested.
 "Oh Ebenezer, you're such a hopelessly terminal romantic," she
rejoined. "But you do know how frightful the cold has been this
season."
  "Well, I suppose we don't have to go just now."
 "Yes dear, maybe next year, if the weather isn't so frightful, and
I'm of better constitution."
 "Yes Precious," he responded.
 "I know," she began, "Why don't you be a dear and go to the
jeweler's to inquire about the ring?"
 "The ring?" he answered perplexedly, for he had forgotten totally
about her engagement plan.
 "You haven't forgotten, you silly little penguin, have you?"
 "No, dear, I haven't forgotten. I'll go this minute, and,
moreover, I shall not return until I have in hand the most
deliciously luxurious ring a bride-to-be ever had."
 "Oh Ebenezer, so fatally romantic," she had so morosely replied.
 "I'll summon a carriage and be off," he said with his fatherly,
authoritative voice.
 "Dear, you know how expensive it can be to hire a carriageman this
time of year. Why don't you walk? The exercise would do you good,"
she countered in her subtly commanding voice that Ebenezer did not
dare disobey.

 "Yes, dear, I'll walk." "It's only forty-eight blocks, and the
walk would do me good," he said in acceptance.
  How much he regretted that conversation, he thought. And why did
he let her "control" him like that, also? If only...Oh well.
Ebenezer's thoughts drifted to the only other person in the world,
aside from his mother, that he cared about.
 "Rosemary Godiva," he thought.  "Such a sweet name. So much nicer
and more `feminine` sounding than `Pat.`" And for a moment he
actually considered the possibility of his dreams being forged into
a reality. "No," he conceded, "I was destined for another."
  His pleasant maunderings over Rosemary were abruptly terminated
with Pat's commanding, over-sweet voice.
"Oh my precious, I was so worried about you," she exclaimed. With
an almost sickeningly sweet look of concern, she added "Oh, I feel
dreadfully embarrassed to ask this, but did you get the ring?"
 "Yes precious," he answered with just a hint of insincerity, "It
only cost the chain and Gramps's pocket watch," "I didn't have to
sell my two molars to the denture maker, after all."
 As her cynical, trained eye appraised the stone and its setting,
a hint of dismay momentarily flashed across her face.
 "Oh honey," she started, "You are so sweet in getting this," "But
there must be some mistake. This is the 14 carat setting, not the
24 carat."
 "Oh well, I fancy the denturist shall like my teeth."
 "Oh dear, you are romantic. Now when are you going to ask to marry
me?"
 It had been ten years since that miserable winter day, ten years
of cold December after cold December rolling by in miserable
serial fashion. With  Ebenezer's mind kept in a state of perpetual
torture by Pat's inescapable tyranny of monotony, and his soul
tormented by her endless manipulation, the years went by, his only
escape being his eighteen hours a day at the soap factory. But the
dream of running off with Rosemary (his imagination seemed to be
the only thing Ebenezer could claim as being wholly his own)
remained as fresh and "undimmed" as it had that first day. Though
he saw her daily in the course of his toil in the dreary basement
of the factory, he rarely spoke to her. But her eyes "conveyed"
more to him than words could possibly have expressed. "We must
meet," they seemed to say. So it came as no surprise when she
suggested they not show up at the factory the next day, and have a
"holiday," as she put it. And the frozen lake seemed the perfect
place to escape the day in illicit friendship.
 Thus the day passed in quiet, emotional detachment--the long
walks, the quiet time sitting under the great chestnut tree, and
the furious sled "rides" down the big hill. This fairy tale seemed
to be perfect in every detail, with nothing short of a disaster
able to dampen its joyousness. But it was very shortly to come to
an end. From the top of the hill, as both participants in this
conspiracy of merriment looked down at the landscape below, they
saw a figure approaching. At the same instant, they both understood
who it was, and why they'd come. It was indeed Pat, and she was
there for the sole purpose of extending Ebenezer's torment to
beyond the confines of the dreary flat on first street.
 "Oh fiddlesticks," he said--No he didn't really say it; he didn't
have to. His eyes had already betrayed his disappointment.
 But another thought suddenly struck Ebenezer. He realized, in that
second, that Pat must be sacrificed if he and Rosemary were to be
free.
  "Rosemary!" he shouted, "With haste,into the sled. God willing,
if I can steer us true, we shall have Pat forever out of our
misery." "Hurry, before she reaches the hill!"
 Thus they prepared themselves for their homicidal sleigh ride down
the mount. And, true to their expectations, Pat reached the hill,
just in time to meet the rapidly accelerating sleigh on its deadly
course.
"Whack!" A horrible sound met their ears, and the world spun.
 It had been nearly a month since that dreadful December day, and
Ebenezer was beginning to realize just what he'd done. He had been,
again, indecisive at the last moment, and had not steered the
sleigh true. Pat lay permanently bedridden, and Ebenezer had total
responsibility for her daily care. Thus Ebenezer, in the one
independent act in his entire life, traded one hell for a much more
intolerable one.
                                The  End





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