I didn’t get instructed to drive into the city, to meet with a strange old attorney at dusk in a dusty small law office full of odd books and bizarre curio cabinets.
Yet again, I wasn’t told that I was the single surviving heir of my natural father’s estate. There was no letter from my father for me, full of regret and remorse, but hinting at dark secrets and forces conspiring to keep us apart.
I wasn’t told hazy details of my father’s life and secret experiments, nor were there any hints towards an unnatural death.
I wasn’t told that I had inherited an estate in Ireland, along with an obscene amount of money and advised to leave immediately. I didn’t fly hours and hours, and then take a train to an abandoned train stop. There wasn’t a silent and creepy but still somewhat hot in a slightly disturbing way driver to pick me up.
We didn’t drive through a spooky ass forest
nor down a spooky ass road,
nor did we comment that it is getting dark in one picture and light in another, because this is a fantasy and fantasies don’t usually need to rely on public domain photo databases. Maybe it was dark when he picked me up and we drove so long it got light by that time. Did you ever think of that?
I didn’t ask the driver if he knew my dad and he didn’t answer “Yes” after a long pause. I didn’t ask him what he was like and he didn’t oddly answer “Hard to say.” We didn’t drive in silence the rest of the way until we came upon the house.
No wait this one.
Hang on a second.
Yeah this is the one.
I didn’t stand dumbstruck for a moment looking at the front of the house while the driver unpacked my bags from the trunk, nor did I turn to see he had strangely driven off without me hearing him, leaving me alone in a light drizzling rain.
I didn’t use an old key given to me by the lawyer to open the door because the door swung open on its own; that’s the kind of stuff that happens in places like this. I also didn’t spend hours walking from beautifully furnished room to beautifully furnished room until finally collapsing in exhaustion from the trip.
I didn’t spend the next few days exploring the hallways and rooms and tunnels beneath the estate, nor did I have odd exchanges with housekeepers who gasped and crossed themselves the first time they saw me or sullen groundskeepers who stared angrily at me when I would walk by. The silent and creepy but still somewhat hot in a slightly disturbing way driver wasn’t in the kitchen in the early morning and he didn’t abruptly leave every time I entered the room.
I didn’t come across any old painted portraits of women who looked like me and I didn’t hear footsteps late at night nor the sounds of a sobbing woman. I didn’t catch glimpses of a woman running through the tunnels or a giggling child who would dash off into the forest and disappear when I went looking for her.
I didn’t come across a secret stash of my father’s papers, and I didn’t discover any complex, intricate and sinister plot that I’m not creative enough to imagine, so just think of some complex, intricate and sinister plot and know I didn’t discover it.
I didn’t wind up having terse exchanges with the driver that wound up with the obligatory schtuping scene in gothic horrors like this because I’d need to lose 20 years and at least 70 more pounds before I threw that into my movie and anyway that would really irritate my cool husband.
There wasn’t a final series of twists and turns where it turned out the silent and creepy but still somewhat hot in a slightly disturbing way driver was actually the illegitimate son of my father by a maid who had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and instead he was raised as the adopted son of the sullen groundskeeper who was in fact the father of the maid, and I wasn’t inherently freaked out to have the schtuping scene because at the last moment it wasn’t revealed I was not the daughter of my father, I was actually the secret daughter of his beloved, insane, hidden away in an attic room until she was murdered adopted sister so there was no GSA creepiness to worry about.
And if you think this resolution is too convoluted, you obviously were not a BSE adoptee who was lucky enough to have an adoptive mom who watched Dark Shadows when you were young, nor did you spend the summers of your teenage years on the shores of Lake Michigan reading trashy gothic horror romance novels, so that sucks for you, you really missed out on a lot.
Then a bunch of other stuff that I’m getting too tired to type didn’t happen but in the end I didn’t wind up splitting the money with my mother's adopted brother's illegitmate child and leaving him the house which I really didn’t want in retrospect because there’s no internet or cable or Whole Foods Supermarkets out there.
Anyway that was my disappointing and boring Celtic New Year where nothing fun happened. Maybe next Halloween. Hope yours was interesting.
Enjoy the fun of the day, and maybe spend a moment with a good memory of someone you loved who is no longer here. Starting tomorrow, that's when things start to get really scary...
where I promise to blog every day for the month of November but most likely will fail miserably, and even scarier....