Diary of a Mad Brownie

by Bruce Coville

  I will not write of the humiliating failure of this attempt, save to say that packing tape and curly brown hair are not a good combination.

  About the time I was recovering from another fit, I heard the front door open. It was Barbara-from-next-door, who comes in to check on Sarah every afternoon.

  I heard her clomp up the stairs.

  Barbara is a good woman, but she does clomp.

  After about twenty minutes, I felt a pain in my heart and heard Barbara begin to wail. I did not need that sorrowful cry to know my Sarah was gone. I felt the bond between us snap in the very moment that she passed from this world. And so tomorrow and no later I must leave this house.

  This all comes from Da carrying love messages for Ewan McGonagall all those years ago. Oh, Da! Why could you not have let well enough alone?

  Ah, weel, that is all long past. The matter at hand is that I have but a fortnight to make it to America and my new human.

  How I am to accomplish this journey, I do not know.

  Tuesday, September 22

  Last night I gathered what little I could carry—about half of my clothes, this diary, a spare hat, and my few bits of gold—and placed them in my pack.

  Then I sealed it against wind and water.

  So that they would not be found, I removed the rest of my belongings from the house, as is both custom and law for a brownie when the time for leaving comes. Most I took to Fergus. The documents that bind me, of course, I must carry in my pack.

  I know so little of what is to come. Have any other brownies had to make this journey? Or are all my kind still safe here in Scotland?

  I foresee a lonely time ahead.

  Stop, Angus! Don’t be maudlin. It does not befit a brownie.

  Once all was in place, I sat and waited until sun was down and moon was up and the world grown soft and quiet. Then I walked slowly through the small tunnel I had dug so long ago, which brought me up beside the hedge behind Sarah’s cottage. There I stood beneath a drooping fern to gaze back and remember.

  I was taught that after his hundredth birthday, a brownie should have no more need for tears. Still, I shed a few for my dear old Sarah.

  For myself, too, I suppose, if I am to be honest.

  When I could dally no longer, I went by secret ways to the place o’ prayer. I didn’t enter, of course. My kind are hardly welcome there. Instead I walked around it three times, widdershins. As I completed the third round, I slipped from the human world into the Enchanted Realm.

  For those who do not know, I should state a thing or two about how the Realm works.

  First, it is somehow connected to humans, for it is most rich and real where humans are…though not too many humans. For reasons I ken not, the Realm is weaker near cities, but strong near farms and villages.

  Second, because the sea is not a place where humans live, there is not much of the Realm there. But the sea people—the merfolk, the selkies, and so on—have to have somewhere to be. As do the monsters of the deep. So there is indeed a sea within the Enchanted Realm, just not so broad and big as the one in the human world.

  How this works, I do not know.

  Anyway, my plan is to make my way to the edge of this Shadow Sea, then seek someone with wings to fly me to the other side. Alas, I have little to bargain with. I hope I will not have to make too great a promise in return for such a favor. It would be a binding contract, and I already have the binding of the curse to deal with.

  So now I am heading for my new assignment.

  I hope it will be a peaceful and congenial place. Even more, I hope that in time it will be a home, a genuine home, for that is what I most long for.

  I also hope it will not have a cat.

  2929 Meadowbrook Road • New Glasgow, CT

  September 23

  Dear Mrs. Carhart,

  We have taken a vote in the office, and I regret to inform you that we can no longer accept Bubbles as a patient.

  In plain fact, the wound ratio after a visit from your cat is so high that three of my assistants have threatened to resign immediately if I allow “that bloodthirsty beast” (as they refer to Bubbles) back through our door.

  I am attaching a photo of Geraldine’s arm after our last encounter with Bubbles, in order to show you what I mean.

  I do wish you the best of luck in finding another health-care provider for Bubbles. He is a fine specimen of cathood. May you have many happy years with him as your animal companion.

  Very sincerely yours,

  Wednesday, September 23

  Feeling better today. I found a friendly toad—they grow large here in the Enchanted Realm—and he offered me a ride in return for three stories and a poem.

  I take some pride in my storytelling and happily told him the story of why I am bound to the McGonagalls, as well as “Tam Lin” and “Thomas the Rhymer.”

  Toadback is not the most pleasant way to travel, as there is a lot of bounce and thump involved. Even so, it sped my journey greatly, which was good.

  When we stopped for the day, I drew his portrait to remember him by.

  He really was a fine figure of a toad, and it was a relief to have his help.

  Time is pressing upon me. I have but nine days to reach my destination.

  he Encyclopedia Enchantica is the definitive guide to the people, places, and history of the Enchanted Realm.

  All entries are written by established scholars of the Realm and provide clear and detailed information on every topic imaginable.

  A copy of this essential book belongs in every home, castle, cottage, lair, tower, and residential cave of the Realm.

  Order today!

  —The editors

  From advertisement and solicitation for the 11th Edition

  AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAY

  by Alex Carhart

  My name is Alex Carhart. I am eleven years old.

  I was born in March. My father likes to say this was appropriate because I “came in like a lion.”

  (My father thinks he is very funny.)

  I plan to be an artist when I grow up.

  My family has always lived in the same house, and I am glad. I like being here. Also, if we had to move, I would have to clean up my room and pack my things, which would be a huge pain.

  I love to read, but I am also athletic and like to play soccer.

  I have long red hair, which I wear in braids most of the time. When I unbraid it and brush it out, my father says I am like a living sunset. He also says my hair is my crowning glory, which makes me proud.

  I have an older brother named Bennett. He has red hair, just like me. Only he does not wear his hair in braids the way I do. We are both tired of being called gingers. It is “hairist” (that’s a word I made up), and people should just stop.

  Bennett likes to run, and he is a star in track and soccer. He is also a comic-book nerd. He has a huge collection of comics. I am not allowed to read any of them, or even touch them. He says that I mess them up. This makes me mad.

  He calls me Al, which I kind of like and kind of hate, and sometimes Allie, which I don’t mind.

  I also have a little sister. Her name is Destiny. This is a family joke. My parents did not plan to have any children after me, which I think was smart, since one boy and one girl should be enough. According to my mother, Destiny “just happened.”

  Really.

  She might as well say the stork brought her.

  Anyway, my parents decided it was their fate to have a third child, and that is why they named her Destiny.

  Personally, I am glad it happened. I love my little sister. She is in kindergarten and she is very cute. Like me and Bennett, she has red hair. Everyone should get over it.

  The most interesting thing about Destiny is that she has an imaginary friend named Herbert the Goblin. I think this is hilarious. My parents checked with a psikiatrist psikiaterest doctor, and he told them she is not crazy.

  We were all happy to hear that.

  My most memorable e
vent was when we went to Disney World and Bennett threw up on Space Mountain. He still gets mad if I talk about that. I guess I’m not supposed to think it was funny. But I do.

  My mother is a supervisor at Happy Oaks Senior Home. I think she likes her job, but I also know it makes her sad sometimes. That is because after someone comes to live at Happy Oaks, his or her next move is usually in a big wooden box.

  Mom says that her worst patients are the ones who got more sour as they got older, and her best are the ones who somehow love life no matter how old and tired they might be. Her very favorite patient is the oldest one in the home, so old that no one really knows her age because her papers are kind of a mess. Mom calls this woman her happy mystery.

  My father is a CPA. That’s Certified Public Accountant, which most people think means he is a “numbers guy” and dull and dry. This is not true. Dad likes to write songs with his friend Pete. Dad does the music and Pete does the words. Some of their songs are pretty good, especially the one about two octopuses trying to learn to waltz. That one always makes me laugh.

  I think Dad secretly wishes he was a musician instead of a CPA.

  I think that would be cool.

  That is my family, and that is my life. I think it is pretty good, and I am happy to be me.

  THE END

  PS: I would have typed this, but Bennett was hogging the computer.

  9/26

  Alex—

  This is quite good, if a bit short. Your family sounds lovely.

  Unfortunately, I had to deduct several points because this was two days late.

  I also deducted five points because of the ketchup stain. (At least, I hope it was ketchup!)

  —Mrs. W

  Saturday, September 26

  I have been three days by the edge of the sea and have yet to find a winged creature who will fly me to the other side. Wretched flibbertigibbets! It’s not only their wings that have feathers. I’m convinced their heads are stuffed with ’em, too.

  If only I could say, “Ah, weel. As none will take me across, I must stay here instead.” Alas, that I cannot do. With each day that passes, an ache grows within me, as if some foul worm were a’gnawin’ at my guts. I know it is nae a worm, of course. It’s the queen’s curse eatin’ at me. Yearn as I might to stay in Scotland, I must cross the water and find my way to my new charge.

  SELKIE

  The selkie folk live in the cold northern waters around the isles of Great Britain. They have two forms. In the sea, they are as seals and move swiftly and smoothly through the water in their sleek, furry bodies. But when they come to land, they shed this skin to reveal their human form, which is generally quite beautiful.

  Should someone capture the skin of a selkie, the creature is then in his or her captor’s power, and many the tale is told of a female selkie forced to marry a human man. Some of these marriages are happy, some not, but always there is a part of the selkie’s heart that longs to return to the water and once more be a seal in the sea.

  A human woman may summon a male selkie by shedding seven tears into the sea at high tide. Though these sea‐men tend to be very handsome, generally such meetings do not end well.

  —Abelard Chronicus, Gnome

  Sunday, September 27

  I have my way across! It is not the way I would have chosen, but desperation will drive a brownie to do strange things. Yestereve at the shore I spied one of the selkie folk. She had shed her sealskin and was lounging about in her human altogether. This would have shocked me at one time, but you can’t live over 150 years and still be startled by such things.

  Happily, discovering her in this state gave me all I needed to gain her help, for while she was combing out her hair, I went to the water’s edge and hauled her sealskin into the woods.

  Then I sat beneath a tree and waited.

  When the selkie lass was ready to return to the water, she went to slip into her skin. Oh, what a wailing she unleashed when she found she could not find it!

  At the sound of her woe, I came skipping down the beach, all syrup and innocence. Eyes wide, I said, “Why, what’s wrong, miss?”

  “Oh, brownie!” she cried. “Someone has stolen my skin, and I cannot return to the sea without it.”

  “Nae, it has not been stolen,” I tell her. “Merely hidden, and glad I’ll be to return it in exchange for a wee favor.”

  “And what favor would that be?” she asked, glaring at me.

  “I need passage to the other side of the Shadow Sea.”

  Her glare grew fiercer. “That’s a mighty high price, little man.”

  This was not a good thing to say to me.

  “I am nae a man!” I cried, and the fit was upon me. “I am a brownie, as you well know. A brownie, a brownie, not some stinking human with great clumping feet and eyes that do not see. I am a brownie fierce and proud, you silly, soggy, seagoing wicked wench of wetness. And I still know where your skin is, which you do not!”

  I was leaping up and down now, shaking my tiny fists at her. Though she was many times taller than me, I think I frightened her.

  “All right, brownie,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll do as you ask.”

  I have done many foolish things in my time, but I am nae fool enough to take a mere promise from a selkie. I made her cup water from the waves into her hands, then swear by the sea itself that she would deliver me safe and do me no harm.

  She grumbled, but did as I asked. When she had completed the oath, I fetched her skin.

  We depart in the morning.

  9/28

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carhart,

  Destiny is a charming child. However, I have a growing concern regarding her persistence in talking about her imaginary friend.

  Please do not misunderstand me. Imaginary friends are all well and good, and many children have them. But by first grade most children have learned to separate the imaginary from the real, and don’t insist that their imaginary friends require a seat right next to them. This insistence on fantasy strikes me as unhealthy.

  Unhealthy or not, it is definitely disruptive. Can you imagine what it would be like if I had to provide two chairs for every child in my class, as I currently must do for Destiny and her “friend”? We would hardly be able to move across the room!

  I implore you to try to convince Destiny that “Herbert the Goblin” needs to stay home. Perhaps you can invent some tasks or chores the creature needs to perform while Destiny is at school.

  Also, you might consider counseling.

  I am quite fond of Destiny, but I do worry about her.

  Sincerely,

  Ms. Lorna Kincaid

  Wednesday, September 30

  If I never again see the sea, it will be fine with me. The last two days were among the most wretched of my life.

  Why did nobody tell me you canna drink seawater?

  Nor did I have any idea how horrible it is to be sea-sick. I spent most of the trip lying on my back atop that selkie’s head, groaning and wishing I could die. I got no sympathy from her, of course. She said it served me right for tricking her.

  And then there were the mermaids. You’d think they had never seen a brownie riding a selkie before. All right, they probably hadn’t. Even so, that’s no excuse for the way they circled around us, singing nasty songs accusing the selkie of being in love with me. And other songs even more insulting than that. The one that made me maddest was:

  Selkie and brownie,

  Swimming cross the seas.

  Watch out, selkie—

  Brownie has fleas!

  I felt the urge to pitch a fit, but the top of a selkie’s head in the middle of the sea is no place for such a thing. For certain it was a wise move when I made the selkie take the oath to carry me safe across. The mermaids upset her so much, I am certain she was tempted to dive deep and stay under till I was fit for naught but fish food.

  And there are some mighty strange fish swimming in the Shadow Sea!

  When we finally reached the far shore
and the selkie dropped me off, she said, “Well, that’s done, brownie. I’ll be back to my own life, and hoping I never have the grievous misfortune to see you again, little man.”

  I again felt the urge to pitch a fit, though I knew she had said it to taunt me. Just as well I had not the energy for it. I realize now she would have been happy to see me lose my temper.

  Still, ’tis a sad state of affairs when I am too tired to tell off a selkie.

  My travels are nae over. I still have to make my way to this Alex Carhart. Finding her is not much of a problem, as I am drawn to her by the queen’s curse. It’s as if I am a fish pulled by a hook.

  But who knows what I will find when I am pulled into the boat?

  I do wish Sarah could have let this Alex know I was coming. I wonder how she will react when she discovers I am to stay with her as long as she lives!

  Maybe I won’t tell her.

  Yes, I think that’s best. Though Sarah and I became friends, the curse does not require me to get to know the person I am bound to. I will simply clean and tidy for her in secret.

  No need to become friends. One human friend was enough.

  They only go and get old on you.

  THE ENCHANTED REALM ON OTHER CONTINENTS

  Though this encyclopedia focuses on the Realm as it manifests in Europe and the British Isles, it is important to acknowledge that it exists around the world. That is why there are separate volumes for each of the continents (though the one for Antarctica is quite slim). We should also note that the folk of the Enchanted Realm of the various continents were in contact long before the humans of those places managed to find each other. This can be explained by two factors: the great elven ships, and the explorations of such creatures as the Pegasi, the Griffins, and the Greater Dragons.