Gothic Manner

Gothic Manner

“Oh, you said manor, I thought you meant manner. I got the Gothic; the manor threw me. So you’d like to buy a Gothic manor?”

“Is that a problem? You know, I’m not exactly sure what he meant by manor. He won a lot of money and turned into a jerk. He used to be an OK guy, but since he got more money than God, he’s changed.  Well you know George, don’t you?

It all started when we were arguing about wasting money on lottery tickets. I told him the chance of winning was millions to one. He said, “Someone has to win.” And he was right. He won.

Have you ever seen a cocoon turn into a butterfly? It was like that. He was the kind of person that would have done anything for you. I’d seen him give his lunch to a homeless guy. He gave money he really didn’t have to, “Save the planet.” He doesn’t swear, drink, do anything even close to being illegal. He’s the kind of guy who waits at the red light for the white hand to give him permission to walk. I wouldn’t find it difficult to believe that when he goes to confession, he makes up stuff to tell the priest, cause he just doesn’t do anything above indiscretion. And then the power ball, 26. 

It was like he was possessed by a devil, spirit, you pick. He changed so much I can’t be around him anymore. He’s like that Simon song about the guy who’s so vain he’s always looking in the mirror and flying off to somewhere to see the eclipse of the sun or moon. What do you suppose happens to someone with so much money they become unhuman. Is that even such a thing, a word. Is it possible to lose all manner of humanity. Empathy? I’d settle for apathy. At least I’d know he was human.

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t unload on you. I still work for him, but that is about all. I know I should just up and quit, but jobs are hard to come by right now, and he pays really well. I guess I’m turning into him. Anyway, I just wanted to ask you because you are in the business, if there is a house that you would consider Gothic, that is on the market. Kind of a hurry, cause the ghosts and goblins need a place to go in a couple of weeks. Halloween, as he has proclaimed, “Only comes once a year.” And thank God for that. I myself prefer All Souls Day, less ghoulish.

He said, rather demanded, that I find a Gothic manor. He was so adamant about it being a Gothic manor, I had to look up the word Gothic, just to make sure. I thought I knew what it meant, like old, but when I looked it up it kind of expanded my understanding of what he was asking. The word Gothic means, creepy, eerie, grotesque. Did you know that? I guess I’d forgotten the eerie part of Gothic. So then I knew what he wanted. You have anything like that? He gave me a picture of what he thought he wanted. Here… I’ll just leave it on the desk.

You know he’s back at the penthouse now. He got me to go out and get him a bunch of paper, construction paper, and glue. He said his family never had the money to waste on decorations and he wanted to make this Halloween one that would make up for all the ones he missed. That I assume is what the manor is all about. 

You know he’s quite good with a scissors. I was shocked, and I mean shocked, that he could make anything with paper and scissors, but you should see the witches he made. I thought he was going to make pumpkins, or something simple, but no. He’s made one of the most intricate witch silhouettes I’ve ever seen. Now, he’s working on cats. I watched him for a while to see if he was actually making these decorations or if he had someone make them for him, and him just take credit for them. Lots of narcissists are like that you know. But I watched, and he gets out this exact-o knife, puts the paper on this board, and begins cutting, slashing at the paper. After a few minutes he holds it up and says, “See.”   

I couldn’t believe it. It was this cat sitting on a picket fence, the tail hanging down, the teeth sharp, scary. It had the weirdest looking eyes. I was impressed. I had no idea he had any talent at all, let alone that of an artist. And yes, I would call him an artist, he’s that good. 

So, I don’t have the rest of my life to find a place, so can you help me or not? I don’t expect miracles but give me at least a hint of a possibility that this can be done in the time line I’ve indicated. If you can’t, fine. But I need to know. 

I’ve never seen him get angry, but then I’d never seen a person change so much, that if you’d known him before, you too would believe he’d become possessed by the spirit of Diablo. I don’t think he could get angry enough to do anything physical to someone, violent, but I don’t want to find out, it being me that is in the cross hairs, as they say. 

You know, I had a teacher like that once. She won some award for being teacher of the week, or year, something, and after that she walked around like she’d been crowned queen of the universe. She didn’t last long after that. No one could stand being around her and she finally was moved out. Rather, I heard, the superintendent asked one of his associates for a favor. They offered her a job in Europe, in a school they knew would close at the end of the term. Of course she didn’t know that. No matter how important you believe you are, there’s always someone more important, with more power. 

But then there is this thing about money. You can buy or bribe your way out of anything really. Maybe not murder, but then you would have paid someone to do that anyway. 

I was thinking about this whole situation the other day when I was sitting in the laundromat, and someone had taken all the old magazines, well not all of them. They left an old copy of Ladies Home Journal, or one of those. I watched out the window as this kid was trying to learn to ride a bike. Reminded me of how people risk a lot to get something. Riding a bike is no big deal if you know how to ride a bike but think back on when you learned. It was a big deal. I think that’s where he’s at now. He remembers all the times he tried, how hard it was, and now, there’s nothing he can’t do or have. It must be like the guy in the desert who finds the oasis. He so thirsty he drinks so much water it kills him.

I lived in the mountains for a while. We didn’t have water, so we had to haul it from a spring. After that you never can turn on the tap again with out appreciating it. It’s something about our nature that we don’t appreciate something until its gone, or we appreciate something more, because we never had it, and when we get it, it’s like a miracle. We just imagine what it would be like. Dream of all the thigs we’d do, and then when you get it, you act like the spoiled kid in the candy store with a thousand dollars. Sometimes you find out though, that the store owner doesn’t have change for a thousand-dollar bill.

I don’t know if I should mention this to him, how he’s acting I mean. I’m not sure he can see what a selfish idiot he’s become. I still like the guy, well, the old guy. I keep thinking he couldn’t have changed that much, and then he does something like sending me out to find a Gothic manor. Not a Gothic house, but a manor. Who even uses that term anymore. Maybe I should be looking for a psychologist and forget the manor. What do you think?

“What?”

“Have you been paying attention at all? Have you heard one word I said about the manor?”

“Sorry, I’ve got this report due tomorrow and I get lost sometimes when I get pressured. So, you are looking for an old spooky house, right? And Why?”

“Good God, there’s two of him.”