Diary of a Mad Brownie

by Bruce Coville

  What makes it worse is that things are getting better between the girl and me. When she returned from school this afternoon, she said, “Come on out, brownie. I need to know more about why you’re here.”

  Thanking her for the invitation, I climbed out of my shoe box.

  “Do you want me to lift you down?” she asked.

  “Nae, miss, I prefer not to be picked up. I’ll make my own way.”

  As I scrambled to the floor, she said, “You’re very athletic.”

  “We brownies need to be strong to do our work. If I were human height, I would be able to lift your father’s car!”

  This was a bit of a brag, but as it was true, I didna think it was too bad to say it.

  When I reached the floor, she said, “Would you rather sit on my desk or on my bed?”

  I looked at her desk and shuddered.

  “Right. Silly question. Sorry.”

  She picked up the chair from her desk and set it beside the bed. I climbed the bedspread and sat down tailor style. When I was settled, she said, “So tell me why this distant relative of mine assigned you to me?”

  I was not yet ready to explain the curse. So I chose to use a different word. “It wasn’t assigned so much as obeying the terms of my family’s ancient, er…agreement with your family. It states that when my human passes on, I must go to the youngest female of the line—”

  “The youngest would be my little sister, Destiny!”

  “I’ll thank you not to interrupt! As I was trying to say, I must go to the youngest female of the line who is old enough to take me on! As Destiny is too young, that happens to be you. It’s not like I wanted to come to this barbarian wilderness. It’s just that, things being what they are, I didn’t have any choice. So here I am, much to your good fortune, and bound to you for as long as we both shall live. Of course, as it is likely I will outlive you, I am—”

  “That’s not very nice. When are you expecting me to die?”

  “Oh, not for many and many a year. It’s just that humans don’t last as long as brownies do.”

  She scowled at me. After a moment, she said, “You keep talking about an agreement. I didn’t agree to anything.”

  “Of course you didn’t! This agreement was made nearly three centuries ago.”

  “Are you claiming you’re three hundred years old?”

  “No, though I do have a bit over a century and a half to my name. The binding was first laid on my father, Seamus Cairns, and passed on to me at the time of his death. I am now tied to your family, and to you specifically, until either one of us shall die. Just imagine how lovely it will be to have your things all neat and tidy every day!”

  “But I like them the way they are!”

  “Well, it makes no difference. I’m here now, and it’s here I must stay.”

  “So you’re saying I don’t have any choice in this?”

  “Of course you don’t have a choice. It’s a family matter. No one gets a choice when it comes to things like that. We’re no more free of the past than we are of breathing.”

  “But I don’t like you messing with my stuff.”

  This peeved me greatly. “I am not messing. I am unmessing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are going to drive me nuts!”

  “And you are already driving me quite mad,” I snapped back. “But there’s naught we can do about it. Though I am personally quite tidy, I cannot deny that fate takes some messy turns. However, the fact that life can be quite messy doesn’t mean your bedroom has to be!”

  Feeling my temper getting the better of me, I leaped off the bed and stomped over to the closet.

  Sadly, stomping is not very effective when you are scarcely a foot high.

  Thursday, October 15

  Today when Alex arrived home from school, I went out to join her, as has become our habit. When I was seated in my usual spot, she said, “I’ve got some questions for you.”

  Folding my hands, I said, “I will answer if I can.”

  “For starters, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘brownie.’ ”

  I’m not ashamed to say I felt a lump in my throat as I said, “My name is Angus Cairns.”

  “Do you want me to call you Angus or Mr. Cairns?”

  “Angus is fine, miss.”

  She made a face. “I don’t like ‘miss.’ Call me Alex, please.”

  “All right…Alex.”

  “Next question: Do you really have nowhere else to go?”

  I shook my head and made my saddest face. I have learned that this is quite effective on humans. It has to do with my big brown eyes, especially when I let tears brim at the bottom of them.

  “Well, if you’re going to stay here, we need some rules so we can get along without killing each other. I have been studying brownies and—”

  “How did you do that?”

  “I Googled it, of course.”

  “You did what?”

  “You know, Googled it. Did an Internet search.”

  I felt like she was talking a different language.

  Alex must have seen my confusion, because she said, “You do know what the Internet is, right?”

  When I shook my head, she seemed as surprised as I was confused. She sighed, then said, “Let me see if I can explain.”

  When she was done, all I could say was, “It sounds like magic to me. Are you sure there’s no witchcraft involved?”

  “Nope, just science.”

  I realized for the first time how fast the world had been changing while I lived in Sarah’s cottage up in the highlands.

  “Anyway,” she said, “all I had to do was type in ‘Brownie,’ and once I got past the kind you eat—”

  “The kind you eat?!”

  “Yeah, you know, brownies.”

  “You humans are eating us now?” I cried in horror.

  “Don’t be silly. A brownie is a kind of…oh, I don’t know. Sort of like a thick, squashed-down piece of chocolate cake. They’re delicious.”

  “Why are they called brownies?”

  “Duh. Because they’re brown! Also, there’s the Girl Scout kind of Brownies, which you obviously are not. But I found lots of information about your kind of brownie, though most of the pictures didn’t look anything like you.”

  “We like to stay mysterious,” I said.

  She smiled. “I think it’s cool that I get to know a real brownie. Anyway, I understand now about you wanting to keep the room clean. But if we’re going to get along, we need to have a few rules. First off, my desk space is mine and I want you to leave it as it is. Agreed?”

  I glanced at the desk and shuddered, but nodded.

  “Also, you’ll stay out of my private things, right?”

  “Just to be clear, what would those be?”

  “For now, my journal and my top drawer. Also, you have to promise not to watch when I change my clothes. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life having to go into the bathroom to change!”

  “That’s fine with me. I’ve no interest in seeing your people parts. But how am I to know when you’re about to change?”

  She thought, then said, “When I’m going to change, I’ll knock two times on the closet door. That means don’t come out. When I knock again, that will mean it’s all right.”

  “As long as you promise never to forget to knock when you’re done, it’s a deal.”

  I licked my thumb and held it out to her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Lick your thumb and I’ll give you a spit swear never to watch you change.”

  She made a face but licked her thumb.

  “Now press your thumb to mine.”

  She did.

  “There. Now you can be sure.”

  “Well, all right,” she said. “Let’s see how things go.”

  So we seem to have a truce of sorts. And that feels good.

  But oh, I ache to have a place where I am not just tolerated but truly wanted and welcome, as I was with my de
ar Sarah.

  I want to have a home.

  To: Dennis Carhart

  From: Tony Wilson

  Re: Take some time to think!

  Date: 10/15

  Den—

  I had a long talk with the old man last night. He was pretty steamed by the way you resigned on such short notice, especially after he had just given you a raise. He was also kind of hurt. (Really, Den, resigning is one thing, but doing it without giving us time to look for a replacement was really unprofessional, as I’m sure you know.)

  The thing is, angry as Dad was, he also really hates to see you go. You’ve been here a long time, and we both really value your work. After I got him calmed down, we came up with this possibility: Why don’t you take the next few weeks to rest and think things through. If at the end of that time you still feel the same way, then we will bid you farewell with no hard feelings—though I will have to ask you to come into the office to help train whoever we hire to take your place.

  Speaking as your oldest friend, I know your finances are not all they might be. It’s not easy raising three kids these days. If you decide to come back, I might even be able to talk the old man into giving you an additional raise. I hope you will.

  Tony

  Friday, October 16

  When Alex came home this afternoon, I went out to talk, as is now our habit. I was sitting on the bed and we had exchanged a few pleasant words when Bennett moped into the room.

  The big lout didn’t even knock, so I had no time to do a scurry. Stuck, I did the only other thing I could and froze, pretending I was naught but some doll or toy.

  The lad was dressed all in black. He had papers in his hand, so I was fair sure he was carrying more of his pathetic verses. I felt a twinge of guilt, since his condition is entirely due to my presence.

  That pity didn’t last long, given what happened next.

  The wretched lad saw me, walked to the bed, and picked me up! Then he said, “Good grief, Al. Why do you have such an ugly doll?”

  I wanted to bite his thumb and shout, “I’m nae a doll, you great lummox! I’m a brownie. A brownie, fierce and proud!”

  But I could not, of course.

  Then Alex made it worse by telling him, “Oh, it’s like those troll dolls I used to collect…you know, so ugly that it’s cute.”

  I was quivering inside by that point. Being called a doll is one thing. Being called a troll was just too much!

  When he finally set me down—tossed me, actually—he inflicted his latest batch of horrid poetry on Alex, then left the room.

  As soon as he was gone, I sprang to my feet and shouted in my quietest voice, “Troll! TROLL?! I am nae a troll! I’m a brownie through and through, as well you know, you wicked girl.”

  “And did you want me to tell Bennett that? I could have told him that you’re a brownie and you were only acting all stiff so he wouldn’t know you were real. Would that have been better?”

  I wanted to pitch a fit at that, but I knew she was right. She had saved me from a big problem.

  “But why did you have to say I was a troll? Trolls are great slobbering stony things from the north. They’re a thousand times bigger than a brownie, with only a tenth of a brownie’s brain. They’d as soon step on you as say hello. I am nothing like a troll!”

  “I didn’t say you were a troll. I said you were like a troll doll. Here, I’ll show you.”

  She went to the big wooden chest that is crammed with her old toys and rummaged around in it a bit, throwing several things onto the floor behind her as she did.

  Honestly, I don’t know if there’s any civilizing this girl.

  Anyway, suddenly she turns around with this…this…naked plastic THING. It had bulging eyes, a wild spray of purple hair, a big foolish grin, a bulging belly, and a nose that looked like half a potato. I have drawn it to show how insulting this was!

  “You think I look like that?” I shrieked.

  “Don’t be silly, Angus. You don’t look like this at all. I’m just showing it to you as an example of something that’s so ugly it’s cute.”

  “So which am I? Ugly or cute?”

  “Neither. You’re mostly just annoying.”

  And that was all we said for the night.

  10/16 (Fri.)

  Angus got all upset tonight because I compared him to a troll doll. It was kind of annoying, but also kind of funny. Only I didn’t let him know that, because he would only have gotten more upset.

  What I’m really worried about is Dad. He is the one who usually keeps things fun, and he can always crack us up if things get too tense. But he has been moping around for the last few days, almost like Bennett.

  If he starts dressing all in black, I’m really going to get nervous.

  I asked Mom about him, but she didn’t want to talk about it. “Your father is going through a phase” was all she would say, though later I heard her mutter, “Why couldn’t he just have bought a red sports car?”

  I know she’s really upset and distracted since she hasn’t even noticed how neat and clean my room is. That’s all thanks to Angus, of course, but I still would have liked it if she had said something about it.

  I wish I knew what the heck is going on around here.

  Saturday, October 17

  No school today, of course, but Alex was still gone most of the time as she had soccer practice. When she came home, she said loudly, “How lovely my room looks! Except for my desk, of course, which is quite a mess. I do hope that’s all right.”

  “Thank you, miss,” I called. “ ’Tis nice to be appreciated.”

  Then I scrambled out for our daily chat, which I have come to look forward to.

  Alas, it only took about two minutes for it to go sour. That was because after we exchanged a few pleasantries, she said, “I’ve been thinking about it, and it might be fun to have a pet brownie.”

  I leaped to my feet. Jumping up and down and shaking my fists, I shrieked, “Pet? PET?! Take the foul word back, ya horrid girl! I made a spit swear to make you happy. Now you turn around and spit in my face. I am a brownie, fierce and proud, and I AM NAE A PET!”

  With that, I jumped down to the floor and scurried back to the closet.

  “You have a pretty big temper for such a little man!” she shouted. Which did not make things any better.

  Now that I’ve settled down, I am not sure which was worse—what she said, or the way I pitched a fit after she said it.

  I have to remember she is a barbarian and not used to civilized ways.

  Also, I need to work on my temper.

  It is the curse of our kind that, though we are thoughtful, loving, and helpful by nature, we are also quick­tempered and slow to forgive. It is for this reason that I have prepared this pamphlet, which I hope will provide guidance for the brownie who discovers that his or her temper has placed him or her in a situation of isolation.

  (If I may be allowed a personal note, I would add that the modern demand for me to write “his or her” is enough to make me want to tear the fur from my living flesh! But I digress….)

  Anyway, should you, dear fellow brownie, find yourself on the verge of losing control, here are the steps I would recommend to you.

  First, count to ten. This is an old and time-­honored bit of advice. And it does contain a certain amount of wisdom, as it helps prevent an immediate eruption. However, I must report from personal experience that counting to ten is generally insufficient. I myself must get to at least 537 before the desire to leap upon someone and start gnawing holes in his or her face begins to subside.

  Sunday, October 18

  Alex is away this morning, as the family has gone to church.

  I’ve thought about my explosion yesterday afternoon with much regret.

  The best I can manage right now is to resolve to be a better brownie. Not in terms of cleaning and doing my work. I’m already doing twice what a brownie ought just to keep this place under control. But I begin to see that my temper is a curse o
f its own, and something I need to work on.

  Also, I must keep in mind that the girl is ignorant of my ways. I cannot always blame her for her lack of understanding. For instance, I never made it clear to her that I am not a pet…though it ought to be obvious to anyone who thinks about it for more than a second!

  Well, now that she knows how I feel about it, if she ever dares call me a pet again, I’ll be justified in pitching a fit that will make the lightbulbs burst in their sockets! But first-time trespasses should get a pass.

  Hmmm, I rather like that! It could almost be an old saying.

  Anyway, when Alex gets home today, I will come out to talk to her again, in the hope that we can do better.

  In the meantime, there is cleaning to do. (Of course!)

  Also, in the fuss of traveling and getting settled, I have been neglecting my mischief. I need to set that right. That’s part of being a better brownie, too! I think I can get some in while the Carharts are off at church.

  —

  LATER

  Mischief plans severely hampered by presence of CAT. Must figure out what to do about this.

  But that’s not the most important thing to talk about right now. The bigger thing is that after Alex returned, I waited for her to get settled, then came out to join her.

  She was at her desk, working on a drawing, and didn’t notice me at first. So once I was on the bed, I said softly, “Ahem.”

  She turned and gave me a sour look. “Oh. It’s you.”

  As if it could be anyone else!

  Folding my hands and looking the proper brownie, I said, “I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday. My short fuse is a curse, and not the only one I bear. I have made a vow to work on it. But you must understand, too, that it was a horrid thing you said to me. I’m nae a cat, nor a fluffy bunny, nor a wee bird to be put in a cage. I may not be human, but I’m a person naetheless, and not to be a pet.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’ve been feeling bad about what I said yesterday, and I’m sorry. But you didn’t have to get so angry. You could have just told me it was wrong.”