A Tale of Hullabaloo Read online

  A TALE OF HULLABALOO

  BY

  DAWSON BROWN

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The story of how A Tale of Hullabaloo came about is quite odd, about as odd as the tale itself. It sprung almost fully formed into my head as I was trying to complete another novel, which has since been scrapped. I asked people I knew if I could use their names for characters, which is an awful practice, but I was desperate! I received quite a few – my friend Tanvir lent his nickname Tabnar, which I obviously used, as did my friend Neely, who became Cornelia. But the one I remember most was the one my friend Liberty sent me, an anagram of her own name: Bertily Socknid.

  What kind of a story would be able to fit that name into it? I wondered. It sounded like something from Harry Potter or Lewis Carroll. I pondered what the title of a story with a protagonist named Bertily Socknid would be, almost instantly coming up with “Bertily Socknid and the Kerfuffle of Hullabaloo” – a completely nonsense title! But ironically, something about it stuck with me. I wrote a basic outline, and at that moment realized that I had a story on my hands. That story, over the course of a year and a half, evolved into A Tale of Hullabaloo.

  I dedicate this passion project firstly to my parents, Carlos and Dana, who have been endlessly supportive of me; obviously, without them I wouldn’t be here to tell this tale! I thank my grandmother, Wimzie, the inspiration for Georgia, for looking over the bits and pieces of it I would send her way, offering many revisions that I have taken to heart as well as enduring countless ramblings of mine about this story. Obviously I thank those who donated their nicknames, as they played an integral part in the development of the characters who received said names. Finally I would like to thank my best friends, Caleb and Rakel, for reading my chapter drafts as I completed them, and encouraging me to send more.

  I hope, reader, that you enjoy this tale just as much as I have – and remember to shut the mirror-door on your way back in.

  - Dawson Brown

  12/16/19

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  _________

  “Charlie, time to get up! We’re running late!”

  Charlie Combs awoke to the yellow-orange rays of the rising sun ticking her face. Her window blinds had been opened, letting an amber glow seep into her bedroom. It brought a smile to her face as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She always liked it - for whatever reason, the state of being in between the dreaming and waking world gave her an airy feeling, as if she were as light as a cloud. For a moment she wished she could stay here in this limbo; but just as quickly as she had entered it, it faded away, and she succumbed to the real world.

  “Come on, Charlie! Please hurry up.”

  Her mother’s harsh voice broke up the haziness like a wave crashing onto the shore. Megan Combs was a rigid woman, all business and little give - from what Charlie could remember, she’d always been this way. How someone could achieve such utter, uncompromising inflexibility was beyond her; for all intents and purposes, they were exact opposites. Where Charlie liked to imagine and wonder to her heart’s content, Meg was trapped in a box of “reality.” Honestly speaking, it was a major killjoy. Charlie put up with it, though, as she was still her mother (not like she had much of a choice, after all.) Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to get her to lighten up.

  “Now, Charlie,” said Meg, coming in and pulling her fuzzy neon green blanket off her prone form, “I really don’t like telling you multiple times. Mom is expecting us around nine.”

  Charlie wrinkled her brow. For the past week, Meg had been conversing with a mysterious “Grandma Georgia” that she’d never heard of before. Actually, she’d been under the impression that her grandparents had perished in a boating accident, along with her father Jordan. Well, she thought to herself, those must have been Dad’s parents...but why hasn’t Mom told me about hers?

  Begrudgingly, she dragged herself out of her pillow fortress and searched for clean clothes. Because it was mid-July, she yanked a pair of cargo shorts and a button-up tee boasting a toucan pattern from the basket of just-washed clothes at the foot of her bed. As she waded through the sea of old textbooks, red checkered flannels, and Chuck Taylors, she stopped briefly at an oval mirror leaning against the wall. Even through its scuffed glass, the bright blue streak in her otherwise butterscotch hair was clearly visible, tickling her freckled cheeks and matching her eyes.

  After brushing her teeth and hair (or in the latter case, raking it back with her father’s brush and calling it a day), she splashed a handful of water in her face to wake herself up, and considered herself ready. Meg had taken the liberty of boxing up some snacks for the trip; she took a Granny Smith apple from the box and bit into it gingerly. As she did so, a large orange cat darted out from under the table beside her, nearly knocking her down.

  “Hello to you, too, Mango,” Charlie said, a bit shaken from her near-death experience. “Tranquil as ever, I see.”

  “You can bring her with you, if you want,” Meg said as she re-entered the room. “Grandma Georgia loves animals. She’s fine with it.”

  “Right,” muttered Charlie. “What’s she like, Grandma Georgia?”

  Meg didn’t answer immediately. She cracked her thumbs and gritted her teeth before turning back to Charlie. “You’ll meet her when we get there. Grab your bags and get Mango’s litterbox. It’s time to go.”

  The Jeep Cherokee rumbled down the back road like a tank entering battle. There were puddles of mud scattered all over the pavement, which it happily splashed through, sending them flying all over the place. It was remarkably hot outside, and even though Meg had turned on the A/C, they could still feel all the sun’s rays washing over them. It had been almost three hours since they’d last stopped, and Charlie’s hands had gone numb from resting her head on them.

  “How close are we?” she asked miserably, turning from the warm window and shaking her hands awake. “It feels like we’ve been in here for a year.”

  Meg gave Charlie an exasperated look. “Almost ten minutes out, Charlie. Just a couple more turns.”

  This may well have been a death sentence to Charlie. Her phone had died several hours earlier, so she couldn’t put her earbuds in and listen to any Lorde or Khalid. While it was plugged up to a car charger, the charger cord was faulty, requiring Charlie to position it ever so carefully on the middle console to provide a charge. Just when the phone would begin to turn on, the car would shift or bump, and the phone would die, starting the process all over again.

  Charlie sat back in defeat, looking over to the huge mound of orange fur that occupied the seat next to her. Mango, to her extreme envy, was fast asleep. When Charlie petted the back of her neck, she barely even budged.

  “I bet you’re having fun,” Charlie murmured, “wherever you are. Anywhere’s better than here.”

  They turned off the pavement onto a long dirt road that seemed endless. On either side were cornfields stretching back as far as she could see; the stalks were huge, at least eleven or twelve feet tall, and as the Cherokee continued down the road, they briefly blocked out the sun. Charlie wished she could see past them to their destination, or even over them. For a brief moment, she imagined herself soaring into the open air until she could see clear to the other side of the world, and the Cherokee was like an ant in a sea of emerald, barely even visible–

  “Charlie. Charlie?”

  Her mother’s voice brought her crashing back down onto the hard leather seats. Charlie shook her head groggily; she must have fallen asleep, after all.

  “Wake up, honey,” Meg said, reaching back and prodding her in the shoulder. “We’re here.”

  Through the window she now saw an open field, huge and sprawling, where horses an
d crows were roaming freely. Behind them, a long driveway snaked back up to the side road. It was what was in front of them, though, that bewildered her most.

  A small, battered old cabin rested at the top of the drive. It looked like it had been doing so for an extremely long time; Charlie wondered how many generations it had housed within it since its initial construction. Besides the chimney, which was made of weathered stone, the cabin itself was made of wood that had begun to rot. A small porch jutted out of the front awkwardly, as if it had been added as an afterthought.

  “Is Grandma Georgia an Amish?” asked Charlie.

  Meg, preoccupied with taking Charlie’s bags out of the trunk, didn’t answer her. Instead, Charlie turned to Mango, who eased her way out of the back seat. “Come on, kiddo,” she said, reaching down and coaxing her towards the cabin. “I’ll need someone to accompany me into the undiscovered country.”

  Walking up to the cabin gave Charlie an odd feeling – one she couldn’t exactly place. It was something bordering on curiosity and hesitancy; she was inclined to go inside, but a strange instinct told her not to. Meg, in contrast, strode right up to the door and walked in as if the house were hers. “Charlie,” she called from inside, “please come in!”

  Charlie took a deep breath and resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her. Holding onto Mango a bit too tightly, she jogged up the stairs and stepped inside, only to be caught completely off-guard. The living room she’d just entered could only be described as a paradise for hippies. Several rugs of various kaleidoscopic designs covered the floor, appearing to have been made completely by hand. Similar-looking curtains hung from the smaller windows, with earthy reds and oranges complimenting the wood wall paneling. The two couches on either side of the huge brick fireplace were the same rich burgundy shade, with white throw pillows resting on top of them. The fireplace mantle bore a number of odd-looking trinkets and talismans of every kind, from Easter Island totems to Eastern European brooches. However, none of these had been as shocking to her as the woman sitting on the floor before her.

  She was leaning back against a small table with her head drooping onto her chest. Dressed in a gaudy green shawl, floral-patterned blouse, and brown bell-bottoms, she blended right in with the rest of the cabin. Charlie slowly approached her as if she was a dormant pit bull, anticipating a bite; as she drew closer, she could hear a faint muttering coming from the woman’s dry lips.

  “Corn…corn…corn…”

  Corn? Charlie thought to herself. What’s she going on about corn for?

  Luckily, Meg suddenly appeared in the doorway. When she saw the Corn Woman, as Charlie had hastily dubbed her, she gasped and stooped over to examine her. “Mother! Oh, not again…wake up, mother! Help me, Charlie!”

  So, then, she’s Grandma Georgia? thought Charlie as she helped Meg ease her onto a couch. She’d never encountered such peculiar behavior before; once Meg had gotten Georgia set up, she tugged on her arm.

  “Mom,” Charlie said shakily, “what’s wrong with her?”

  For a split second, Meg’s face became drawn. She clenched her jaw and swallowed nervously. Then, as soon as it had arrived, her anxious spell was gone, and her smile returned. “She’s uh, just getting old, is all. Please look after her while you’re here, okay, Charlie? I drew you up a schedule of when to give her meds, feed the animals, set out their water, all that. Just two days, until I get back from my business trip. Okay?”

  Placing the schedule on the coffee table, she drew Charlie in and gave her an all-too-brief hug. “I love you,” she said, and again the businesslike demeanor faltered; this time, however, it gave way to one much more inviting. This Meg - a rarity that presented herself once every blue moon - was Charlie’s preferred Meg, and she hugged her mother back tightly.

  “I love you, too,” replied Charlie meekly. Meg then left the house, and all Charlie could do was watch her drive off, wondering what she’d just gotten into - and who exactly she’d been left with. Being completely out of her comfort zone, she felt exposed and naked, as if she’d been dropped in front of a hungry lion’s den.

  “Charlie?”

  She turned back to the couch, where Grandma Georgia was now sitting upright. She looked upon Charlie with an amused expression, and Charlie stared back, not knowing what to expect next.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?”

  Charlie shook her head.

  “I apologize for that. Your mom and I, we don’t get along too well...she tends to think I’m not adult enough for her.”

  This struck a particular chord with Charlie. “I know what you mean,” she said, instinctively twirling her blue streak. She’d had to fight Meg tooth and nail for it, her reasoning against getting it done being quite similar. “How childish!” her mother had said, steadfast in her refusal to give in. “Childish and silly. No grown and self-respecting woman would see the need for such a thing!”

  “Come and sit, if you want?” Grandma Georgia patted the couch cushion next to her. Charlie obliged hesitantly, sitting at the other end of the couch and leaving plenty of space between them. “Now, I’m not gonna bite ya!” she protested, “you look like you just smelled a dung beetle or something.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Charlie, not budging. “When we came in, you were muttering about corn…”

  “Was I?” Grandma Georgia laughed. “I apologize. I have a habit of talking in my sleep.”

  “Your eyes were open, though.”

  At this, Grandma Georgia’s mouth shut firmly. She looked down at her hands, as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. Several times she attempted to say something, but no words came out.

  “Your mother is right,” she finally uttered in defeat. “I’m getting old, child. Fifty-eight isn’t exactly the pinnacle of youth, ya know. You probably won’t understand yet, but my brain doesn’t, ah…doesn’t work exactly like yours. Not a big deal, but I don’t want you to think I’m…weird, or anything. In a bad way. It’s good to be weird in a good way. Okay?”

  Charlie nodded. Anything else would have likely been rude.

  “When I’m bored, I stare out at the cornfields to pass the time. They’re mine, you know. All mine. Been in our family for generations. See, your mom never did like growing up out here. ‘There’s nothing to do out here,’ she’d always say. She moved out first chance she got. Caught up in hustle and bustle, the fast life. From what I hear, a lot of you kids are like that nowadays. Not patient enough to take it slow. Anyway, enough of my diatribing. I often fall asleep while I’m watching outside. I fall asleep a lot, actually. My brain can’t keep me awake. That’s all it is, child…I go to sleep, and dream of corn. What a goofball I am.”

  Charlie giggled, more out of nervousness than anything else, but after her giggles subsided, her shoulders began to relax. She scooted closer to her grandmother, who put her arm around Charlie’s shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon, one of Charlie’s favorite scents, and with the warm tones of the room and the sunlight tickling her eyes, she almost felt like falling asleep herself.

  “Listen here, kiddo. I’ve got to go take care of my daily chores, so why don’t you go up to your room and make yourself comfortable? If you end up having a good time, you’ll always be welcome to bunk in there whenever you like. First floor, first door on your right. Now, while you’re here these next couple of days, you’re welcome to use any room but the one opposite yours. That’s my china room. Don’t want to risk breaking any of it, it’s older than I am. Okay?”

  “Yes, Grandma Georgia,” she said, hopping off the couch.

  “Oh, call me Georgia,” replied her grandmother sharply, so much so that it startled Charlie. “Poor child. You sound like a young’un when you say the whole thing. Plus, it makes me feel better. Oh!”

  At this moment, Mango - who had gone exploring after they’d found Georgia on the floor - came tottering in, taking her by surprise.

  “Who’s this lovely kitty?”

  “That’s Mango,” Charlie repl
ied. She patted her just behind her head, and at that her ears perked up and she began to purr. “She likes you.”

  “Ahhh, I see,” Georgia said, admiring Mango. “Okay, now. Go make yourselves comfortable!” She left the room, exiting through the same door Meg had. Charlie watched her leave, picked up Mango and taking a look around at the otherwise empty house.

  “Well, Mango, I guess everyone’s left but us,” she said. Immediately after, Mango wrenched herself free, plopped on the ground, and departed after Georgia into the cornfields.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  _________

  Charlie’s room was much smaller than the one back at home. Its size and low-hanging roof made it feel more like an attic than anything else. It carried over the amber-orange tones of the rest of the cabin, exacerbated by the lamp on the window side table and several strings of lights surrounding the pane. Two beds rested on either side of the compact room; they bore plaid comforters and three or four throw pillows apiece. Charlie chose, as she always did, by way of a quick eenie-meenie-miney-mo, coming to settle on the left bed.;

  Though her initial hesitancy had mostly faded, there was still something about the cabin that made her feel...odd. She had no idea what it could be; from what all she’d seen thus far, it appeared pretty normal. It had an antique air about it, as if she’d stepped back in time - she liked that part about it. What, then, was the cause of her peculiar feeling? Was it Georgia? Sure, thought Charlie, she was a bit on the odd side (and seemed strangely frail for her age), but she couldn’t help it. Was it the utter isolation of the cabin itself? Not really. There seemed to be enough to do to where it wouldn’t be much of a problem, and if all else failed, she had her phone.

  Her phone! She threw her bags onto the bed and rifled through the smaller one, snatching it up along with her charger - only to find that only to find that the connector piece had snapped off. She huffed in frustration, and after finding that her phone had also died, lowered her head in defeat. So much for that.