The Thing at the Edge of Blundertown

by Jane M. Bloom

  PRAISE FOR

  THE THING AT THE EDGE OF BLUNDERTOWN

  “Blundertown is an exciting story that keeps you turning the pages. But like many great books, it also changes its readers. You almost feel yourself becoming more courageous as you read!”

  —Sharon Linnéa, author of Raoul Wallenberg: The Man Who Stopped Death

  “This beautifully written parable of youthful courage in the face of frightening bigotry is both a suspenseful adventure tale and an eloquent warning against blind obedience to the prevailing order. The Thing at the Edge of Blundertown is a touch-stone for today’s youth.”

  —Gray Basnight, author of Flight of the Fox

  “Bloom’s cleverly written young adult novel, which begins innocently enough, morphs into a surprising and empowering page turner with an oh, so timely message. Perhaps Ionesco would have appreciated this reinterpretation of his Rhinoceros to bring this important conversation into middle and high school social studies classrooms.”

  —Susanne Meyer-Fitzsimmons, author of Deep Living: Healing Yourself to Heal the Planet

  “Blundertown hooks young readers and pulls at their dog-loving heartstrings while challenging them to consider their response when faced with discrimination and injustice: Do they wait, blindly follow, or stand up and take action? As an educator, I recommend this book to teachers and students.”

  —Angela M. Church, Berkley High School Social Studies teacher, Berkley, MI

  “Blundertown presents an interesting parallel to what happened in Nazi Germany. Sadly, it may be more relevant than ever today with what is going on in this country.”

  – Rabbi Michele Brand Medwin, author of A Spiritual Guide to the World of God, Parts I & II

  THE THING

  AT THE EDGE

  OF BLUNDERTOWN

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2019 by Jane M. Bloom

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including by photocopying, by recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Published in the United States of America

  by Full Court Press, 601 Palisade Avenue,

  Englewood Cliffs, NJ 07632

  fullcourtpress.com

  This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-946989-43-7

  Library of Congress Catalog No. 2019905696

  Editing and book design by Barry Sheinkopf

  Author photo by Jonathan C. Hyman © arthoops55@gmail.com

  TO LOUISE AND RAYNA

  whose love for each other inspired this story, and to all who stand up to hatred

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is fitting that this story came to me in a dream. It was in 2013, a time when we’d begun noticing a change of tone—small but disturbing incidents that occurred far away from here, buried in the news. Then 2016 came along and exposed us all. I dusted off my manuscript; it no longer read as a tale of history, but rather as current events.

  I am grateful to the many people who contributed to this book. There wasn’t a single critique from friend or family that wasn’t spot-on, and addressing each one of them made the story better. In particular, I thank my daughter, target-age at the time, who read an initial sketch and gave the green light to proceed, and my brother, David Hunt, for his wise red pen once I’d finished my first, so-called “final” draft.

  I thank Sharon Linnéa and Thomas Mattingly for their invaluable workshop, and my fellow writers Susanne, Micki, and Claudia, whose continued encouragement for another chapter kept me on task.

  Additionally, I thank my editor, Barry Sheinkopf, whose instincts and expertise are above reproach, and my husband, Steven Bloom, whose patience and support made writing through the wee hours possible. I am forever blessed by my mother, Nancy Hunt, an avid reader and the best person and mother in the world.

  Lastly, I thank Temple Sholom, my spiritual home.

  PROLOGUE

  WHEN I WAS LITTLE, I WAS A VIVID DREAMER. By the time I was twelve, all of my dreams had come true. Some grownups spend their entire lives trying to make just one dream come true. But beware: Some dreams you would rather remain just that—silly, nocturnal illusions, prickly nightmares that never reach beyond the bounds of sleep. Trust me that, once you get rid of the bad dreams, there’s more room for the really wonderful ones.

  I can’t promise your dreams will come true, but I can tell you how it works for me. I just close my eyes at night and wait. Iggy and I hold each other, his stuffed lizard nose nestling against my chin. The scene is as dark and vast as a starless sky. Then, suddenly it’s there: The Glitter! First, just a handful of bright, colorful specks appear, so tiny that I’m not sure if my eyes are playing tricks: fluorescent purples, greens, and turquoise. But sure enough, they begin to twinkle at me, Hi, Raelyn! Then, huge bursts of glitter-dust bound in from everywhere: neon orange and jade, translucent gold and silver, pinks, blues and light bulb white—the brightest rainbow explosion! It’s my own custom-made fireworks, only instead of filling the sky, they seep gently into my tiny universe of dreams. My belly leaps inside as if I’m racing with my brother Jackson, his knuckles clenched to the steering wheel as he whoops with laughter. But here in the sanctity of my room, there is no fear of crashing or spinning out of control.

  Once I’ve seen this magnificent display, I know that all is right with the world. It’s my go-ahead to settle into the comforts of deep slumber. And that is when I have my dreams.

  I’ve seen the Glitter since before I can remember. It has always been with me, except for during the Horror many years ago (which is what I now call it). No matter my yearning, my wondrous, mystical Glitter was nowhere to be found. I was as empty as the bottomless pit Jackson used to tease me about.

  I recall the exact day that I lost the Glitter. And I recall the very day that it came back to me.

  It all had to do with Penelope.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 Greetings

  Chapter 2 The Sleuthing Begins

  Chapter 3 BFFs And What They Wore

  Chapter 4 Strange Trip To The Vending Machines

  Chapter 5 There Goes The Neighborhood!

  Chapter 6 A Single Vote

  Chapter 7 Doc Goodman’s

  Chapter 8 Lifespan Of A Club

  Chapter 9 A New And Improved Game Of Hide-And-Seek

  Chapter 10 Postcard From Penelope

  Chapter 11 Angelica’s Secret

  Chapter 12 A Bucket, A Plan, And The Boy With The Swagger

  Chapter 13 Plan “A”

  Chapter 14 How To Pass Inspection (With Tricks And Illusions)

  Chapter 15 Jackson’s Jolly Followers

  Chapter 16 Will The Real Joan Robin Please Stand Up?

  Chapter 17 Plan “B”—A Gutsy, Illegal, But Necessary Adventure

  Chapter 18 Penelope Park

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Greetings

  THE BUS SCREECHED TO A STOP, and the doors slammed open in front of 12 Hucklepuddy Road. Raelyn Devine was leaning over a fellow student in the last row, studying the graffiti on the back of the seat. Yes! She’d finally found what she was looking for: the answer to her brother’s second clue. As annoyed as she was with Jackson, she would play his stupid game—but only because he had promised there’d be a prize at the end. She couldn’t imagine what kind of prize it would be under the circumstances, and, she guessed, neither
could he.

  His second clue went like this:

  Dear Baby Rae,

  Still working to win back your heart

  Not easy when we’re apart

  You’re my little Sis

  Whom I deeply miss

  And I’m just a great, big old FART!

  So here’s the next clue of the Game

  A “Who Am I” riddle to name:

  Who loves MarCUS?

  Hint: see back of BUS

  (In rhyming stuff, I’m rather lame.)

  —Your Big Bro, Jackass Jackson

  “E”: the answer was “E” for Emily, forever trapped in a lopsided heart on Bus 36: “Emily loves Marcus.” An arrow had pierced right through them.

  “Hey. C’mon,” someone grumbled. Impatient murmurs reached her from all sides. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and her frizzy, black hair over the other as she made her way to the front of the bus.

  “Don’t forget about you know what,” Angelica called after her. No way would she forget.

  Now that she was in middle school, she was old enough to come home to an empty house and not lose her very own house key. She turned it in a practiced way.

  “HELLOOOO, MY LADY!” SHE SANG OUT as her bag fell to the floor. A bundle of shiny black-and-tan fur sassed in front of her. She bent down and gave her dog, Penelope, a tremendous hug. She couldn’t recall a day in her life when Penelope hadn’t been there to greet her at the door. They’d grown up together. At first, they were both rambunctious little puppies. But for every year that Raelyn grew, Penelope grew seven-fold, so that now she was quite a refined old lady.

  And she was a generous kisser. “Eww, gross.” Raelyn wiped her smeared glasses. “I missed you.” She grabbed the thick fur around Penelope’s neck and rubbed her velvety ears. They were the softest, silkiest texture ever. The best part was that Raelyn didn’t come home to an empty house at all. She came home to her best friend. “How was your day, huh?”

  My day? To Penelope, this was a most welcome question. Well, it was rather peculiar, indeed! So very kind of you to ask. She hoisted herself up, scratching Raelynn’s jacket. As she did so, a mild pang shot through her hind legs. Arthritis—such a nuisance.

  “Whoa! Calm down, girl.” Raelynn lowered her gently. She spotted the kitchen towel in the middle of the floor. “Penny,” she demanded, feigning a deep, baritone voice, “why did you do that?”

  Penelope stared absently in the other direction. Who, me?

  Raelyn draped the damp towel back over the oven door (who would know) and ran her glasses under the faucet. She was tall and as skinny as her brother had been at her age: all knees and elbows. On the refrigerator under “Jack’s Treasure Hunt,” she marked an “E” next to the letter “G.”

  Then she noticed a slip of orange paper under the desk. It, too, had been slobbered over. She sat on the floor and stroked the top of Penelope’s head, mauled document in hand. She buried her nose into the warm fur. The sweet, musty smell was Raelyn’s favorite in all the world. “What’s wrong, My Lady?” Her mother called Penelope mischievous, but Raelyn knew her better than that. Penelope wasn’t naughty; she was upset. She plopped her chin on Raelyn’s shoulder, where it rested for a few moments. “Hey!” Raelyn lifted it so their noses touched. “Guess what we almost forgot?” She jumped up and approached a ceramic jar on the counter.

  “T, R—,” she began to spell. At the second letter, Penelope galloped across the glossy floor and skidded to a stop at her feet. She sat with perfect posture, a single controlled lick of the tongue. Black marble eyes followed Raelyn’s arm as it swung backward. . .then forward, the hand overhead. . .and then: the release! Penelope sprang off her hind legs and leaped, catching the treat midair. She was a pro, even in her golden years. It was always worth the minor discomfort.

  “Good catch! You’re ready for Short Stop.” Raelyn laughed every time. “W-A-L-K?”

  Penelope pranced in a circle and barked, “Of course, my dear—what a silly question!” She reached into a long, elegant stretch, derrière high in the air. Always stretch before exercise—particularly when elderly. Then she sat, prim and proper, as Raelyn dressed her in her favorite accessory, a stunning pink-and-gold necklace.

  THEY LEFT, LEASH IN HAND. The special item from Angelica (a green envelope that had passed through an unspoken chain of students) would have to wait. Most of the trees were bare by then, with carpets of color at their feet. They shuffled through the autumn foliage. As they approached the neighbors’ house, Penny’s head sprang up. Oh, lucky day! She lunged forward. Allow me to lead, if I may.

  “Penny, heel,” said Raelyn.

  “Well, hello, Little Neighbor,” Kelly Davis called in the exact same way she always did. She was wearing her blue eye shadow and coral lipstick, and she had a bag of groceries in her arms. She broke all of Angelica’s fashion rules. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good.” Raelyn stopped. Penelope sat dutifully at her side, her tail making broad sweeps as she awaited the good graces of her favorite neighbor.

  Ms. Davis beamed her over-the-top, phony smile and pointed a commanding finger at Penelope. “Stay.” She hustled into her house. She had a huge behind and hips that formed a shelf on either side, shifting back and forth as she moved. Penelope’s eyes remained fixed on the front door. Patience, patience, she urged herself, barely able to sit still. As soon as the door opened, she whimpered, and Ms. Davis instantly rewarded her with a snack. What exquisite flavor! Quite a delicacy today.

  “Say hi to your folks for us.”

  “I will.” Raelyn knew she wouldn’t—how silly. They lived right next door.

  They reached the bottom of the hill. Raelyn noticed a few geese gliding in the pond. But Penelope was looking across the street. “Boxer! Hello, Boxer! It’s me, Penelope!” she greeted him, tugging toward her friend. “How’ve you been? Anything new, darling? Yoo-hoo, Boxer? Hello, there!”

  Raelyn coaxed firmly. “No, Penny. Next time.”

  “She says, next time! Toodle-oo,” Penelope promised, and stepped in line. (Had she known there’d be no next time, mind you, she would have been more persistent.)

  EVENTUALLY, THEY APPROACHED THE SIGN Welcome to Blunder-town Park. They’d been coming to the park alone since September. Before that, Jackson used to join them. Now he wasn’t going to be home for a very long time—maybe even a year—but who needed him anyway? Certainly not the Raelyn–Penny team. She planned to jog around the bases with Penny to prep for softball in the spring. She was lousy at sports, but the bar was low for sixth graders. They would take anybody. Literally. That was why Gil Richmond shouldn’t be so braggy.

  She peered into the field. It didn’t look as if anyone (Gil Richmond) was there, fortunately. He sometimes came with Prince, his handsome German Shepherd. They would exchange “heys” and let their dogs circle and sniff each other. It was a bit awkward. One, dogs sniffing each other’s behinds was awkward. Two, being face-to-face with any boy from school outside school was awkward. Three, even Angelica thought Gil Richmond was annoying. He was the star of the cross-country team and had already broken a school record—big deal, since sixth-grade sports didn’t even count. He got away with things no one else did because his mother was an assistant principal. And they lived in the wealthiest section of town. One block over, and he would attend Luxmore Middle School with its fancy Olympic-sized pool. So long, been good to know you.

  And four, it was Gil Richmond, and it would always be awkward for reasons best left unmentioned.

  She noticed a smaller sign to the right of the park entrance that she’d never seen before. She approached it, setting herself in a beam of late afternoon sun. It was the size of notebook paper, with bold black letters. At the sight of the words, she stopped short. Instantly, Penelope sat at her heel. An autumn chill whipped out of nowhere, and a swirl of dead leaves rose up and whirl-pooled around them. She read the sign a second time, but seemed unable to comprehend the three words that appeared:

 
No Dogs Allowed

  Those three words would change both their lives forever.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Sleuthing Begins

  WHEN I WAS SIX, I dreamed I was a detective, creeping around the house with my magnifying glass. Just as I did in real life, I wore my sleuthing hat and searched under the cushions, behind the chairs, and on tip-top shelves. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I finally hit the jackpot in the bathroom: a mysterious puzzle piece under the sink. “Mommy!” I called, running around the house until I tracked her down. I showed it to her. She said, “That’s nice, honey.”

  I guess if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you can’t know when you’ve found it.

  “WHY?” RAELYN WANTED TO KNOW over dinner. “It makes no sense.”

  “Well, I don’t know.” Her mother sprinkled salt on her plate as if it were magic dust. She did this, and many other quirky things, on a daily basis. (She places exactly one ice cube in her drink, rotates her plate clockwise as she eats, and dabs her napkin with every other bite—and that’s just dinner). “There must be some good reason. They wouldn’t do it unless there was a reason.” Her hair was still in a thin pony tail from work.

  “Who is ‘they’?” Rae asked.

  “They. Town Council? Parks?” Her mother glanced across the table to Raelyn’s father, who was taking in snatches of the newspaper. “Vigil?” she called to coax him out of his private world. He shrugged with his mouth full.

  “So where do they expect you to take your dog? If all the parks are now closed to dogs? That’s insane,” Rae concluded. Penelope lay a few feet from the table, concentrating on the environs just below her chair. She knew from years of experience that chances of falling food were best beneath the child’s seat. Even though Raelyn kept getting bigger, she was still the child and always would be.

  Her father turned another page and rubbed his eyes. “Budget cuts,” he said. “They had to eliminate some park jobs. Cleaning up dog poop, it’s become a burden on taxpayers.” He popped his glasses back on, a gold adornment on an otherwise dark face. “I suppose that’s what’s behind this new law, I don’t know.” Whenever the subject was local politics, his voice became a dull drone, like a long, passing train beating on the tracks.