by Eric Bower
There had to be a way for me to repay him for saving us, but at the same time punish him for stealing my identity and then attempting to throw me off a cliff.
And then it hit me. A brain sneeze.
“Idea!”
“What are you doing?” B.W. cried, trying to free himself.
Shorty and I hoisted him up and into the train car. The train car was filled with bales of hay, and it smelled like animal plop, even though there weren’t any animals in it. As far as train cars were concerned, this one didn’t seem too bad, though I only had one other to compare it to.
“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” I told my former best friend as we gave him another push, “that’s all.”
As B.W. rolled further into the train car, a couple of merry travelers poked their heads out. They’d been hiding in the shadows behind the hay bales, having snuck onto that particular train car without purchasing a ticket.
“Well, well, well,” cackled Lefty Also. “If it ain’t the funny looking kid from Texas! Good to see you, cowpoke! Hah hee!”
“Hah hee!” Lefty echoed.
“Hah hee!” I echoed as well. “Hi, Leftys. This is B.W. He’ll be joining you on a cross-country trip.”
“What?” said B.W., his eyes growing wide with panic. “No, I won’t! Untie me! Untie me right now!”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out all of the money I’d made from dancing at the Pitchfork train station. It wasn’t much, but to a pair of failed inventors who ate nothing but beans and crackers, it looked like a small fortune.
“Here you go,” I said, as I handed Lefty and Lefty Also the money. “This is to repay you for your kindness, and also so you’ll make sure that this kid doesn’t get off the train until you’ve reached the East Coast.”
“You got it, kid,” said Lefty as he tipped his crushed hat at me. “We’ll keep an eye on him like he’s a porcupine at a nude beach.”
“Umm, alright. Thanks. Anyway, have a nice trip, B.W.!”
The train conductor blew the whistle. The engine released a long string of steam, as the wheels began to turn, and the train started to chug along the tracks.
“I’ll get you for this, W.B.!” B.W. shouted over the sound of the moving train. “I’ll get you for this if it’s the last thing I do!”
“Hey, Leftys!” I called. “Something I forgot to tell you! There’s nothing B.W. loves more than a good song!”
“Huh?” said B.W.
The two Leftys laughed and slapped each other on the back as they stood. They both cleared their noses and throats, and then they started to sing.
“A-one, and a-two, and a-one-two-three . . . the Camptown ladies sing this song, doo-dah! Doo-dah! The Camptown racetrack’s five miles long! Oh de doo-dah-dey!”
“Noooooooo!” screamed B.W. “Anything but that! Nooooooooooooo!!!”
My parents, Rose, Shorty, Deputy Buddy, and I all waved farewell to B.W. as the cross country train slowly carried him away.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo . . .”
“Do you think that was too cruel?” I asked, when we could no longer hear B.W.’s screams.
“He stole your identity,” Shorty said.
“He tried to kill you,” said M.
“He wanted to build deadly weapons to help his evil father,” Rose said.
“His evil father whom he helped break out of jail,” Deputy Buddy added.
“He tied up Geoffrey and hid him behind the barn for several weeks while his father posed as him,” P said darkly. “In my opinion, you went too easy on him. If you hurt my son, you deserve to be punished. But if you hurt my horse, you deserve something much worse than ‘Camptown Races.’”
Everything’s Just Hunky Dory
As I mentioned before, this is my favorite part of a plan: the part where the plan has already been completed, everything has turned out alright, and life can go back to the way it was before.
Well, life can mostly go back to the way it was before.
My parents ended up destroying both the Doppelgänger Device and the Gänger-Doppel Device. They realized it would be far too dangerous to have devices that could turn you into other people or turn other people inside out. We had seen firsthand what a criminal could do with an invention like that.
Several people from the government (we think they were from our government, though some of them spoke with weird accents and attempted to bribe us with money that had pictures of fish on it) came by and tried to convince my parents to build them Doppelgänger Devices as well, but they refused, no matter how much fish money they were offered. My parents would rather be poor than go against their morals.
Shorty’s father finally met a doctor who convinced him to accept the fact that he would never grow a proper mustache. That might not sound like a big deal to you, and, frankly, it doesn’t sound like that big a deal to me either. But, apparently, it was a big deal to Shorty and her mother.
They said it was a marvelous breakthrough, and they could finally have a life where they didn’t have to worry about their father spending a fortune on fake hair tonic or catching fleas by repeatedly gluing animal tails to his upper lip. They packed up their things and headed back to Chicago.
“I don’t suppose you could convince your folks to move out here?” I had asked Shorty as she and her parents boarded their train back home.
Since B.W. had turned out to be a villain, it meant that Shorty was once again my only friend. Though I had to admit, she was a pretty great friend to have. It was wonderful having someone in my life who I could trust, who I knew I could always count on.
“Maybe one day I will,” Shorty told me with a big grin. “Or maybe you could convince your folks to move to Chicago. Either way, I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Wide Butt.”
And then she jumped up and kissed me.
I still have the bruise.
I no longer had a friend in school, but that didn’t really matter. In my opinion, it was better to have no friends than to have a fake friend.
The other kids in school didn’t seem to care that B.W. would no longer be their classmate, though Miss Danielle was pretty upset about it.
“But I had just learned how to say his name three times quickly,” she groaned to me after she heard the news. “Belford Eustace Nigel Egbert Doolittle Ignatius Cattermole Threepwood Whitestone the Third, Belford Eustace Nigel Egbert Do—oh, what’s the point?” she sighed.
“That’s okay,” I said as I patted her on the arm. “You can say his name to me as often as you like, Miss Danielle.”
My teacher smiled.
“That’s very sweet of you, Waldo.”
I winced.
I actually think I prefer “Wide Butt” to “Waldo”.
An uneventful month went by.
Then, one morning, Deputy Buddy Graham stopped by the Baron Estate. It was garbage day, the day that all of Pitchfork’s trash had to be taken up to the Pitchfork Desert Dump.
Rose had dressed properly for the event, wearing her dingiest and dirtiest clothes, as well as a clothespin pinned over her nose. But I noticed she still painted her face in makeup and straightened her hair, which was strange for a trip to the dump. I mentioned that to M and Aunt Dorcas, and they both laughed and told me that I’d understand when I got older.
I hate when people tell me that. What if I don’t understand when I get older? What if I understand even less? And how old are they expecting me to be before I understand? Thirteen? Fourteen? Eighty-six? If I had to be that old in order to understand, then I’d probably forget whatever it was that I’m supposed to be understanding in the first place.
“Rose? Buddy? Would you mind if we tagged along?” P asked, as they prepared to board the giant carriage filled with garbage. “Sharon and I are working on a new invention, and we’re running a bit lo
w on parts. Maybe we can find what we need at the dump.”
“Sure,” said Deputy Buddy. “The more the merrier. I hope you don’t mind the smell.”
“That’s not a problem for me,” P said, as he, M, and I boarded the horseless carriage. “Being struck by lightning twice has completely eliminated my sense of smell.”
“P, you’ve been struck by lightning a lot more than twice,” I told him. “In fact, I think it’s happened close to thirty times.”
He frowned.
“Really? Thirty times? I don’t remember that. Hmmm. Maybe it’s done something funny to my brain. Have I been acting strangely lately?”
M and I looked at each other for a moment before quickly shaking our heads.
“You? Strange? Never,” I said.
“Not at all,” M told him as she patted his spiky head. “You’re the most normal man I’ve ever met.”
Suddenly Aunt Dorcas came bolting out of the Baron Estate. For some reason, even though she had already eaten breakfast earlier, she was holding a hardboiled egg in each hand.2
“Where are you all going?” she demanded. “You never tell me when you go out, and that’s really quite rude. What if I wanted to go out as well? Did you ever think about that? Maybe Aunt Dorcas wants to come too!”
“You’re right, Dorcas,” M said. “I apologize. We’re going to the Pitchfork Desert Dump to search through the stinky trash to find parts for our new inventions. Would you like to join us?”
Aunt Dorcas’s chin quivered. She sniffed the air and looked at the garbage carriage parked in front of our white picket fence.
“No,” she said quietly. “But I appreciate the invitation.”
With Buddy and Rose’s carriage leading the way, we headed north in search of the Pitchfork Desert Dump. I was actually pretty excited. Sure, it would smell awful, but I knew that no one at school had ever been there before. Once they heard that I’d visited the dump with my family, they’d probably be begging me to describe it to them.
When we got there, I realized there was only one word to describe it.
Stinky.
We could actually smell it when we were still a half mile away. There was a literal stink cloud hanging over the dump, a powerful stench that we could still smell even when we placed the clothespins over our noses.
I’ve smelled some pretty gross things in my life, but the Pitchfork Desert Dump takes the cake. In fact, it takes one of Rose’s cakes.
Once we reached the dump and passed through the fence, we saw that her baked goods had their own little section at the far corner of the dump.
“Hmm, that’s strange,” Deputy Buddy said as he scratched his head. “Rose’s pies and cakes weren’t over in that corner the last time I was here.”
“Maybe the rest of the garbage was so grossed out by Rose’s baking, that it came to life and moved it over there,” I suggested.
Rose picked up an empty bottle of Stone Lake Shoe Polish and threw it at me. It bounced off my head with a hollow sounding ding.
“Come on, Buddy,” she said. “Let’s dump the trash and then get out of here. I’ll give you a hand with the heavy stuff.”
P giggled like a weird kid in a candy store as he ran towards a collection of rusted metal and copper pipes, excited to find parts for his brilliant new invention that he had told the rest of us would be a terrific surprise.
“Remember, McLaron!” M called after him. “No more raccoons!”
“Of course not, Sharon!”
“And that means no raccoons dressed as other animals either.”
“You never let me have any fun!”
I looked down and noticed that P had dropped something. When I leaned over to pick it up, I realized it was his Listen Up, Stephen Device. The red light at the end of it was blinking, which told me that it was still switched on. I was curious how the device worked, and so I stuck it in my ear.
I was almost knocked over by the intensity of sound. I could hear everything, and I mean everything.
I heard the wind blowing from miles away, and the horses from the trash carriage whinnying lightly as they napped.
I heard the clicking of the clockwork inside the horseless carriage. I heard my mother and father talking excitedly about a new invention as they sorted through the trash in search of something useful.
I heard the trash itself settling, metal creaking, papers crumbling, and Rose’s pies and cakes making weird gurgling noises that I don’t think food is supposed to make.
Then I turned and heard some new sounds, specifically the sounds of Rose and Deputy Buddy, having what they thought was a private conversation.
“Have you told them yet?”
“Not yet, Buddy. I don’t know why, but I’m afraid to tell them.”
“What are you afraid of? They’re all such nice people.”
“I know they are. They’re like my family. In fact, they’re more of a family to me than my actual family ever was. I guess that’s why I’m afraid.”
“Would you like me to tell them for you?”
“That’s sweet of you, Buddy, but no. I should be the one to do it. I know it’s silly for me to be scared to tell them because I’m certain they’ll be happy for me. Happy for us, I mean.”
“Of course they will. They really love you, Rose. And I do too. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“I’m pretty lucky too. I think I’ll tell them tonight over dinner.”
“Am I invited?”
“Do you want to be?”
“That depends . . . will you be making dessert?”
I heard the sound of Rose punching Buddy on the arm.
“Ow! I’m just kidding, Rose.”
“Watch it, Buddy Graham. You should be kinder to me. The only reason why I tried to learn how to bake a pie was to impress you. Just because I agreed to marry you doesn’t mean that you can make fun of my cooking.”
I gasped as I quickly turned away from them so they wouldn’t know that I’d been spying. Rose was getting married? To doofy Buddy Graham? I couldn’t believe it. It was the most shocking thing I’d ever heard. How would I be able to look at them without blurting out that I knew their secret? And what would happen once they got married? Would Rose move out of the Baron Estate? Would Buddy move in? Would she still work for my parents, or would she get a job working for the sheriff with Buddy?
I was so nervous and excited and confused by their conversation, that I almost missed the Listen Up, Stephen Device picking up the sound of something even crazier. At first it sounded like nothing more than a bunch of little squeaks, but, when I tilted my head closer to the pile of trash across from me, I was able to hear it more clearly:
“Good work, Sheriff Rattington and Deputy Ratty. The people of Ratville owe you a debt of gratitude for ridding our town of those rotten pies and cakes.”
“Thank you. We were just doing our jobs, Mayor Ratberry.”
“Who do you think it was that tried to poison our food with those awful baked goods?”
“Deputy Ratty and I discovered that it was the work of the dastardly Raterick Ratwood, the foulest villain in the world. He discovered the disgusting baked goods last month. He was planning on making us all sick from the nasty cakes and pies, so he could take over the town. But don’t worry, sir. Raterick is now locked up in the Ratville Jailhouse, where he can’t do us any more harm. He’ll be stuck in there with the desert lice and fleas for a very long time.”
“Excellent work! The people of Ratville are so grateful for what you’ve done, that they’ve requested that you and Deputy Ratty be the honorary guest judges at the annual Ratville Fair baking contest!”
“Gee, that sounds swell, Mayor Ratberry. Can we do it, Sheriff Rattington? Can we, huh?”
“Of course we can, Deputy Ratty. It would be an honor, Mayor Ratberry.”
“The honor is all ours, Sheriff Rattington. The world needs more good rats like you.”
I slowly pulled the Listen Up, Stephen Device out of my ear and placed it in my pocket. For a moment, I just stood there and stared at the ground.
“W.B.!” M called to me. “What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost.”
I cleared my throat as I cast a quick glance at the pile of trash across from me.
“Nothing’s wrong, M,” I told her. “Everything’s just hunky dory.”
2. ?
Certified Beanologist
Eric Bower is the author of The Bizarre Baron Inventions series. He was born in Denville, New Jersey, an event of which he has little recollection, yet the people who were there have repeatedly assured him that it happened. He currently lives in Pasadena, California. His favorite type of pasta is cavatappi, his favorite movie is The Palm Beach Story, and he is the proud recipient of a “Beanology Degree” from Jelly Belly University in Fairfield, California. His wife and family have told him that the degree is nothing to be proud of, since “It’s not a real degree. You know that . . . Right?” and “Eric, they literally give them to everyone who visits the Jelly Belly factory,” but he knows that they’re all just jealous.
Bringing Words to Life
Agnieszka Grochalska lives in Warsaw, Poland. She received her MFA in Graphic Arts in 2014. Along the way, she explored traditional painting, printmaking, and sculpting, but eventually dedicated her keen eye and steady hand to drawing precise, detailed art reminiscent of classical storybook illustrations. Her current work is predominantly in digital medium, and has been featured in group exhibitions both in Poland and abroad.
She enjoys travel and cultural exchanges with people from around the world, blending those experiences with the Slavic folklore of her homeland in her works. When she isn’t drawing or traveling, you can find her exploring the worlds of fiction in books and story-driven games.
