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 ษอออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออป บ (714)871-2057 Digital Decay BBS (714)871-2057 บ บ Bringing you the finest in Anarchy บ บ 340 Megs/ 5+ Megs textfiles บ บ 24/7 2400/14.4 บ บ Call Now! บ ศอออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออออผ