The Thing At The Edge of Blundertown: A Young Adult Novel

“Mommy! Daddy!” I screamed. “Your bodies are missing!” They smiled at me, unfazed. “You’re just talking Bobble Heads!” I cried in disbelief. They acknowledged they knew this. In a way, it was funny to see their expressive heads chattering about, turning and cocking the way heads attached to bodies typically do. But in another way, it wasn’t funny at all.

How Ollie Jerkins became Chief Executive was a wonder to everyone except himself. No superior intellect, skill, wealth, or family connection explained it. To the contrary, up to this point in his life, he had been a complete failure. He flunked out of college and ran several small businesses into the ground. He was terribly uncoordinated, never kept a girlfriend, had no rhythm, and couldn’t carry a tune. In the beginning, his peculiar hatred for dogs earned him names like crackpot, maniac, and wacko. He distributed a pathetic, rambling poem degrading all canines, which people folded into paper airplanes and aimed back at his head on the streets. He was the butt of countless jokes.

But never say never, because Ollie kept at it. His presence at the right place and time was uncanny. And most importantly, he had an obsessive passion, no matter how absurd. Once he developed his craft and talking points, he spewed his crazy talk non-stop. He hooked enough voters to get him elected to his first political position, the new mayor of Blundertown.

At first, he was nothing more than that—small peanuts, small town. But in practice, both visibly and behind the scenes, he was an influential player in Daffy County politics, and a rising star. This gathering of clout between his broad shoulders had been four years in the works. There was no end in sight. Sure, there were discussions in basements with the lights low: How do we get rid of this guy? Whom can we groom, prep, and promote to beat him in the next election? There had been a few unsuccessful attempts; those candidates had been lucky to leave unscathed for fresh starts in distant towns.

Then one day, the front page of the People’s Daily (it wasn’t Ollie’s Daily yet) announced in bold letters: “Mayor Jerkins Becomes New County Executive.” His predecessor was an elderly man who had long lost his stomach for this kind of politics. He passed the baton to the ruddy-faced bully without a fight. And that is how Ollie became the head honcho of Daffy County, his hand in every pot, his signature on every dotted line.

But it still wasn’t enough for him.

One of the things Raelyn’s father never shared at the dinner table was the recent, secret vote on the Emergency Act. The Act would confer virtually unlimited powers on Chief Jerkins in the event of a so-called emergency. The Chief had given a fervent speech to the legislature on why it was necessary to pass the Act by a majority vote. The County was in the throes of deep crisis, he bellowed. His spittle reached the far side of the table when he spoke.

He wasn’t a large man, but he could dominate a room. He sat at the helm of the long conference table with five council members on one side and four on the other. No one took the side opposite him. He knew he had it made when a roomful of people laughed at his jokes even he knew weren’t funny. These were people he could make sweat (Rae’s father, Vigil Devine, included). He could trigger nightmares that left no memorable trace in the morning. It was silly, they knew. After all, they were adults living in the USA, not in some dreadful place without elections and free speech. Yet these primitive power dynamics never really go away no matter where you are or how old you have become.

You may have heard of back-stabbing politicians: set-ups, deceit, nasty rumors, some of which are untrue. Local politics could be brutal, but not in Blundertown, where folks all got along, slapped each other’s backs, and worked in harmony. And of course they laughed at Ollie’s jokes—comic relief. On nearly all matters prior to this one, the vote would have been unanimous. They’d all go home with an evening respectably spent and a pittance well earned.

But the Emergency Act was different. When Chief Jerkins opened the floor for discussion, no one wanted to be the one to disagree. It was a challenging feat—how to praise and flatter but at the same time suggest that his ideas were crazy. It simply couldn’t be done. Passing the Emergency Act would mean that Ollie, alone, could thereafter make any rule at all during an emergency. Yet the definition of emergency remained dangerously vague. In practice, couldn’t anything be deemed an emergency? This went too far, even for some of the cowardly legislators. Naturally, no one said so.

However, when it came to voting, two “nays” were muttered almost instantly. Half way around the table, the vote was split: two “ayes” in favor and two “nays” against. The room was still. Every stomach churned. Vigil Devine studied the flushed faces of his colleagues who had already cast their votes. Then he studied the ghostlike faces of those who were next. He would be last, but his time was coming.

Three more votes tipped the balance in favor of the “nays.” You could almost see the smoke coming out of Ollie’s ears. The next vote tied it, four to four.

And then it was Vigil Devine’s turn. His vote would seal the matter one way or the other. If he voted “aye,” we had a dictator. If he voted “nay,” we didn’t, but his own troubles would be just beginning. He could be his daughter’s age right now, sitting in the sterile courtroom before the judge. He was expected to cast his vote for one, but not the other, of his divorcing parents. The helpless echo in his ears was the same. The hollows in his gut were the same. He never could do it then, and he wasn’t sure he had it in him now. He swallowed hard. All eyes were diverted elsewhere except for Mr. Pumpkin Head’s, who drilled their way into Vigil’s dark, uneasy stare.

“I abstain,” Vigil declared.

“You what?” Chief Jerkins boomed.

Vigil said, a little louder, “I choose not to vote. I abstain.”

There were rustled exchanges around the table. Then Ollie’s lips curled upward and his left dimple appeared. He pulled out the Legislative Procedure Manual from his inside jacket pocket. Who knew he kept it there? He thumb-flipped through the pages until he located what he was looking for, and read aloud: “In the event of a tie vote, the County Executive breaks the tie.”

Congratulations. Vigil had created a dictator.

IT TOOK A WEEK FOR HIM TO CONFIDE IN HIS WIFE. (He did so only partially.) It was nighttime, the time for adult discussions. He was distraught and rambling, elbows propped on the low table, chin in hands. “How can Ollie get away with this? We’re not in Communist Russia. We live in the Sweet Land of Liberty, for Thee I Sing. Purple mountain majesties, checks and balances, the whole nine yards. He can’t just strip the legislature of its power like this.” But his last words rang hollow. He knew that he and his fellow council members had set the stage long before the Emergency Act. His forehead pounded his fists. “Joan, what do I do?”

“Well, dear, I think you’re overreacting.” Always the calm voice of reason. “Remember, we are in a state of emergency. I’m sure whatever Ollie does, it’s to protect us all—the community.” She stroked the dark curls above his ear. “Besides, once the emergency is under control, things will go back to normal.”

“I hope you’re right. I just feel like I ought to tell someone, file a. . .complaint or something.” He paused. “I mean, people are being apprehended for things now that would never before—”

“Go over your boss’s head? Lose your job? Over something as silly as this?” she said with a wave of her hand through the air. “That’s your Grand Plan for the family?”

By then, Raelyn was straining to hear near the top of the stairs.

“I suppose you’re right.” Her father sat back, a hand on each giant knee. He gave a robust sigh as if blowing out candles. “We did follow the procedural manual.” The pressure in his chest began to lift. “I suppose I should sleep on it, huh?”

Her mother smiled. “How did you know that’s what I was going to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know, just a hunch?”

“In the morning, this mountain will shrink back to the tiny ant hill that it is. Look,” she said, her head peck-peck-pecking as she spoke, emphasizing select words, “all I want is to keep our family safe. To teach our children to be good human beings. Is that too much to ask?” He put his arm around her. Her lecture continued. “Choose your battles, Vigil. What’s important is our family.”

“Our family, Mom?” She was two-thirds down the staircase.

“Raelyn!” Her mother was startled. “What are you doing up?” (meaning, “How long have you been listening?”)

“Look at our family albums. Penelope’s everywhere. There’s a whole photo album just of her,” Rae’s voice was rising. “How do we sign our New Year’s cards? ‘Peace. Vigil, Joan, Jackson, Raelyn—” here she shouted—“and Penelope Devine, ‘Woof-woof!’” Her nightgown formed a mini-tornado as she spun around and stomped back upstairs. A loud thud! followed as she tripped and banged her knee. “Ow!” she howled. “Don’t laugh!” She slammed her bedroom door.

Penelope watched all of this unnoticed from her perch at the foot of the stairs. There she was again, the subject of another turbulent episode without the faintest idea why. All her life, she had prided herself in her ability to read the signs, interpret the clues, figure things out. Her skills were quite superior. She could tell, for instance, when her father was sad from the smell of the liquid in his glass, when Alpha was anxious from the increased pace of her footsteps around the kitchen. She could tell when her sister was keeping another secret from her extra glances when no one else was looking. Back when the dear boy was home (so fond of him—hadn’t seen him in ages!), she alone foresaw trouble from the trail of subtle odors that followed him from the front door. Her two-legged family, wonderful though they were, had glaring deficiencies in the sensory department. They couldn’t smell things the way she could, couldn’t feel the vibrations or read between the lines. They were last to know a storm was approaching and rarely knew what time it was.

But now she was baffled, out of her league. The ways of the world, the rules of the road, everything had changed in some undefined way she couldn’t grasp. The only things she knew for certain were: one, things were changing at an alarming rate and didn’t look good for her; and two, Raelyn was in distress. She definitely would check on her again tonight.