Adobe - A Rob Hunter Reader

Unreservedly dedicated to our grandchildren, Clyde and Lila
Hunter of Montclair, New Jersey and Madoc Theodore Suta
and Zane Hamilton Suta of South Portland, Maine.
Magnetic Betty
Story by Rob Hunter
Illustrations by Lee Suta
Except where otherwise noted, the content of Magnetic Betty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
You are free to share—to copy, distribute and transmit
the work under the following conditions:
Attribution. You must attribute the work in the manner
specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way
that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the
work).
Noncommercial. You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
Derivative Works. You may not alter, transform, or
build upon this work.
Magnetic Betty by Rob Hunter
Illustrations by Lee Suta
ISBN: 978-1-4276-4250-9
Magnetic Betty
1
“Clunk, rattle, rattle, rattle,” said the iron frying pan
as it galloped across the floor and dived under the rug
where it made a large lump. Honeybunny, the Kunkle
family dog, jumped up on the couch and began to
bark.
“Betty...”
“Sorry, Mom. I know I should be concentrating. I
forgot about the frying pan.” The frying pan emerged
from its rug tunnel and huddled under the couch.
Betty—a rather pretty little girl—gave the frying pan
an intense look.
“Zoop,” said the frying pan as it leaped back up on
the wall. Honeybunny wagged her tail.
7
“Ah... that's better,” said Mr. Kunkle, “a place for
everything and everything in its place.”
“Now, if only it would stay there, exactly three feet
four-and-a-half inches from the floor, so we could
find it when it is omelette time,” said Mrs. Kunkle.
The Big Iron Skillet (or frying pan) tended to roam
and the Kunkles had to sneak up on it whenever they
wanted to cook an omelette. The Kunkles loved omelettes. Honeybunny loved omelettes, too.
Betty Kunkle's unusual ability was first remarked
upon by her fellow Brownie Scouts when they became hopelessly lost while on a recycling project.
“All the trees look just alike, ” said Amanda Thistle,
Betty’s best friend. “We are lost.” They had gone
deeper and deeper into the woods searching for cans
and candy wrappers left behind by careless campers.
“Follow me!” said Amanda. Fortunately for the
Browntown Ocelots, Betty had returned to the bus to
change into her old red sneakers, otherwise the girls
might never have been seen again. All their compass
Magnetic Betty
needles pointed at Betty. The Ocelots climbed on
board the bus and went home.
To celebrate the discovery of her daughter’s hidden
talent, Madge Kunkle, Betty’s mother, knitted her a
sweater with a recycling symbol on the front and the
back. “Now everybody will know it is you,” she said.
After that, in Browntown where everybody was
called Kunkle, the Kunkle child was known as “Magnetic Betty.”
Now, if you have traveled widely and experienced
life in all its many flavors you might have met another family named Kunkle. This family is not that
family. Our Kunkles live in Browntown, where almost everybody is a Kunkle. This is why the Browntown Kunkles call one another by their first names.
Or middle names. Or nicknames or street addresses.
And sometimes—for there are a lot of Bobs and
Sallys and Gladyses and Teds in Browntown, where
Kunkle-ness abounds—by their cell phone numbers.
9
2
Many, many years ago when the Earth was still flat
with corners and edges, and not round like a pizza pie
as it is today, and not spherical like a big blue-green
ball as it looks on TV, a wandering band of ancient
Kunkles moved in after the Browns—the pioneer settlers of Browntown—left for Australia. The Browns
had gone to see the kangaroos and left the town
empty. “Just the place,” said the ancient Kunkles, and
they settled right in and the Browns made themselves
at home in far Australia. The Browns and the kangaroos never tired of watching each other and the
Browns never came back.
It was Sunday, after their customary turkey dinner,
and the Kunkle family was gathered around their living room radio. Tonight was the Browntown Symphony's premiere performance of Blow your Nose in
Magnetic Betty
a Garden Hose by Piotr Ilyich Kunkle, the great composer, and the Kunkles had fallen asleep in various
poses of cultural uplift, for they had popped in their
earplugs to keep the music out. They turned the radio
up loud, for Piotr Ilyich Kunkle lived two blocks
down and one house over from the Kunkle family and
it would have been rude not to listen.
Magnetic Betty rubbed her eyes and looked sleepily
up at her father and said, “That music is awful, Dad.
Why do we have to listen to the Browntown Symphony?”
“Because it is good for us,” her father answered.
“Ouch, I have a kink in my neck.” Mister Kunkle's
head had fallen forward as he dozed so that his chin
rested on his clavicle.
Now, this is not a part of the story so there won't be
any questions later on, but you should know that the
clavicle is that funny spot right where your chin ends
up when you are checking for a blob of escaped cranberry relish after a big, big meal. If you were a
11
chicken or a turkey you would call this your
wishbone and make a wish.
“WHAT?” Betty shouted. In the background the radio blared with one of the louder parts of Blow Your
Nose in a Garden Hose.
“GOOD FOR YOU,” her father shouted in return.
He picked his chin up from his clavicle and retrieved
a magazine which had fallen from his lap as he dozed.
“PENNSYLVANIA,” Mrs. Kunkle shrieked. She
Magnetic Betty
had spied the magazine in her husband's hand and
mistakenly thought that he was doing a crossword
puzzle.
“EVERYBODY!
TAKE
YOUR
EARPLUGS
OUT,” Betty yelled.
“Zoop!” An electric toaster unplugged itself from
its socket in the kitchen and flew into the living room
where it nuzzled Betty and wrapped its cord around
her legs. The toaster purred. Betty Kunkle, otherwise
a normal, healthy girl, had a problem with household
appliances.
“Betty,” said Betty's mother as she removed her
earplugs, “...the toaster, ignore it, please. It just wants
attention. Encourage it and soon we'll have bread
crumbs everywhere.”
Betty poked the toaster under a couch with her toe.
Betty was fond of the toaster and hoped it would stay
out of sight. The toaster hopped right back out again
and into her lap. “Oh... brollyflogger,” said Betty.
“Language, Betty. Language,” said Mrs. Kunkle.
13
“Well,” said Mr. Kunkel, “That is surely interesting.”
“What is that, dear?” said Mrs. Kunkle.
“Zip, whir, thwack,” said a large iron frying pan as
it flew across the room and banged into the wall. The
breeze created by the frying pan ruffled Mrs. Kunkle's
hair and flipped the pages of the magazine Mr.
Kunkel was reading, causing him to lose his place.
“Betty,” said Mr. Kunkle as he leafed back to find
the page he had been reading. “Not now. Mommy and
I are having a conversation.”
“What was that again, dear?” said Mrs. Kunkle.
“A frying pan, Mom,” said Betty. “The Big Iron
Skillet.”
“I was speaking to your father, darling. Run along
and practice your lesson.” Mrs. Kunkle again addressed Mr. Kunkle who had returned to his reading,
“You said something was interesting in your magazine, Walter. Certainly it can't be that Dubrovsky's is
Magnetic Betty
having another special on cold cuts. That was last
week.”
“Interesting. That is what I said—interesting.” Mr.
Kunkle pointed to an article in Scientific American,
the magazine he had been reading. “See?” Mr. Kunkle held up the magazine, folded to show a picture of
the Earth with lines drawn sprouting out of it in bigger and bigger circles. “The lines are lines of magnetic force,” Mr. Kunkle said. “Additionally, I don't
believe that Dubrovsky's advertises their luncheon
meat specials in Scientific American. I can check,
though...” He flipped furiously through his magazine.
“Nope. No cold cuts.” Mr. Kunkle appeared concerned. “It's always something,” said Mr. Kunkle.
“Or half a dozen of another,” said Madge, Mrs.
Kunkle, as she put down the magazine she had been
reading and reached out to fiddle with the radio's dial.
“Well, cold cuts or no cold cuts, this article says the
Earth's magnetic field is getting set to reverse itself
any day now,” said Walt Kunkle.
15
“I hope this doesn't affect our daughter,” said Mrs.
Kunkle.
Betty called from the kitchen where she had returned the Big Iron Skillet to its proper place. “Stay,”
said Betty to the Big Iron Skillet, and went back to
the living room where Mr. Kunkle was smoothing out
his magazine on the coffee table.
“It's always something.” Mr. Kunkle was still thinking about the missing cold cuts from Dubrovsky's.
The Scientific American had never let him down before. “See,” he said. The Earth in the picture in the
magazine looked like it had been wearing a knit wool
cap on a very cold, dry day and, coming into its
house—or wherever the Earth lived when it wasn't
underfoot, that is—had pulled off its knit wool cap
and its hair stuck out every which way.
“Is that where we live?” asked Betty.
Magnetic Betty
“Right here,” said Walt, pointing to a particularly
unruly cowlick.
“Oh, Mom,” said Magnetic Betty, “it is such a
bother with all these frying pans and toasters following me around. And only yesterday at soccer practice
the goalposts bent way over to help me get a goal I
didn't deserve. They gave Amanda Thistle a bump on
the head and she was grouchy all afternoon. I can't
wait for the Earth's magnetic field to reverse itself no
matter how many cold cuts Dubrovsky's has in the
Scientific American.”
17
“Sounds like we need professional help,” said Mr.
Kunkle.
“Let's call Dolby Jenks, World's Number One
Champion Detective,” said Betty. Dolby Jenks,
World's Number One Champion Detective, was the
hero of one of Betty's favorite radio programs.
“Dolby Jenks is a fictional personage,” said Mrs.
Kunkle. “Let's write a letter to Santa Claus.”
“I don't know, dear,” said Mr. Kunkle. “The mail
can be dreadfully slow around the holidays.”
“We'll put on two stamps,” said Magnetic Betty.
“Extra postage, just the ticket. Why didn't I think of
that,” said Mrs. Kunkle, beaming down on Betty.
“You are such a bright child.”
3
So it was that the Kunkles sent a letter off to Santa
Claus. They gathered together by the radio to wait for
Magnetic Betty
his reply. “And now...” said the announcer,
“...another pulse-pounding episode of Dolby Jenks,
World's Number One Champion Detective—The Adventure of the Shanghai Princess, Part Three.”
The Kunkle family was eating soda crackers and
milk, for their omelette pan was nowhere to be found.
The toaster purred at their feet. “The toaster may
stay,” Mrs. Kunkle said, “But our omelette pan has
disappeared. How sad.”
Ding, ding, ding announced the mantel clock.
“It is about time for Santa's reply,” announced Walt
Kunkle as he brushed cracker crumbs off his necktie.
The Kunkles watched the fireplace. The chimney was
hot and they had to get the mail out before it could
catch fire.
“Zoop, zoop, zoop. Swish, swish, swish.” Like a
falling feather, a single postcard descended the chimney. Swooping back and forth it neatly zigzagged
around the glowing embers to land at Betty Knuckle's
feet just as the radio boomed out the thundering finale
of Dolby Jenks' theme music.
19
“Right on time,” said Madge Kunkle. “Can't beat
Santa with a stick.” The toaster purred as a set of Revere Ware cooking pots flew in from their home in
the cupboard under the kitchen sink to see what all
the commotion was about.
“Now why would anyone want to...?” Walt Kunkle
began to say. He was flabbergasted that his wife had
voiced an intention to bludgeon the Christmas Elf.
“It's an expression,” said Madge Kunkle, “...a figure
of speech.”
Meanwhile Magnetic Betty was turning the letter
from Santa Claus over and over hoping to find out
what was inside.
“What's
inside?”
her
father
asked.
“What
does Santa say... about our, uh... problem?”
“It doesn't have an inside,” said Betty. “It is a postcard. Look.”
Walt Kunkle turned the postcard over and over in
his hands. On the message side, next to a box provided by the manufacturer for people who felt they
Magnetic Betty
had something to say, the address said simply, Magnetic Betty. “You are right, Betty. It does not have
any inside.”
“What does it say, dear?” said Mrs. Kunkle.
“‘Dear Betty, having a lovely time, wish you were
here. Try Dolby Jenks, Santa.’”
“He's
on
vacation,”
said Betty.
Walt Kunkle turned
the postcard over. On
the
picture
side,
in
shorts and an Aloha
shirt, a jolly fat man
with a flowing white
beard held a large sea
bass cradled in his arms.
He was smiling directly
into the camera.
“Good
teeth,”
said
Madge Kunkle. “Well,
he is an elf.”
21
“An elf on vacation,” said Walt Kunkle. Mr. Kunkle went back to reading his magazine.
“But whatever shall we do?” Betty asked. “I am
getting stronger, I can feel it. Today frying pans and
toasters, tomorrow—dishwashers... then automobiles
and spaceships.” Betty started to cry.
“Walt, please pay attention. This is serious,” said
Mrs. Kunkle for Betty was her only child and the apple of her eye. That, too, is a figure of speech, just in
case you were wondering. “I know. Let's make a wish
on a wishbone. That's a sure-fire fix,” said Betty's
Mom.
“Ahh, wishbone...” Mr. Kunkle looked down at his
clavicle where a dab of cranberry relish still clung to
his necktie.
“The turkey's wishbone, dear. I have one all saved
and set aside,” said Mrs. Kunkle. “A single omelette
pan. Is that too much to ask of a turkey?” Mrs. Kunkle closed her eyes tightly as she made her wish.
Magnetic Betty
“Wishbone wishes are powerful stuff,” said Mrs.
Kunkle, “but this is for your own good, Betty.” The
Kunkle turkey clavicle was very old and very dry and
snapped before she was through. “Oh dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Kunkle.
“The turkey will understand, dear,” said Walt Kunkle. “Everything will be fine and dandy.”
“But a wish is a wish and all the turkeys in the
world put together would be hard-pressed to make
change for a quarter,” said Madge Kunkle. Mrs. Kunkle only wanted the best for her daughter.
Nothing happened.
23
For a while. Then, little by little, Betty's magnetic
attraction began to fade away. The floorboards of the
Kunkle house sighed as their iron nails eased themselves back into their beams. Lip-smacking luncheon
meats began materializing in the pictures of the Scientific American. Salamis and Bolognas bloomed
where once people wearing khaki shorts grinned and
waved their shovels as they unearthed ancient civilizations.
Things changed—both inside the Scientific American and out. A large ham orbited the moon. And in
far Australia the Browns and the kangaroos settled in
for some serious skittles and crossword puzzles where
previously they had bounced all over the landscape,
no small accomplishment when you stop to think that
Australia is upside-down.
So Magnetic Betty was cured of her magnetism and
things went back to normal and every Kunkle in
Browntown was as happy as a clam.
No. Just the opposite!
Magnetic Betty
Things were in a fine old state. Because the Earth
began acting like it was flat, not round, and without
Betty's magnetism people found that things tended to
fall over the edge and become lost forever. Previously
sociable toasters, frying pans, even automobiles, went
out for a breath of air and were never seen again. The
Kunkles wore long faces and only played with their
soda crackers.
4
Mr. Kunkle came in from the front porch where he
had been calling for the Big Iron Skillet. He looked
dejected. “I have whistled; I have called—even raised
my voice without wearing my earplugs—and the frying pan is nowhere to be found. I fear there will be no
omelettes for the foreseeable future.”
It was one Sunday soon after that, as the Kunkles
sat around the dinner table enjoying their Sunday
soda crackers and milk, that the doorbell rang.
25
“I'll get it,” said Betty.
A little girl, one of the Browntown Ocelots by her
Brownie Scout uniform, stood dejectedly on the doorstep. It was Amanda Thistle. When she saw Betty,
Amanda jumped back and covered her head.
“It's OK, Amanda,” said Betty. “I'm cured.”
“Sorry, Betty,” said Amanda. “Just a reflex. My
mom sent me over to ask your mom if you could be
magnetic again till after dinner. Our frying pan is
gone and we were planning on an omelette.”
“Sorry, Amanda. This is turkey magic and we are
out of wishbones. You will have to learn to adjust.
Here, have a soda cracker.”
Amanda joined the Kunkles for dinner. They all
wore long faces and only played with their crackers.
They were not sad because the Earth was flat—
everybody knew the Earth was flat sometimes, although it took some getting used to. The Earth was
flat and that was that. Flatness or roundness was not
the problem.
Magnetic Betty
“I just don't see how we can live this way,” said
Madge Kunkle. “Betty, didn't you send away a boxtop and twenty-five cents for that magic decoder ring
from the World's Whatsis Whatever?”
“The World's Champion Detective, Mom. That's
Dolby Jenks, and I would be listening to the Adventure of the Shanghai Princess if we didn't have to
have the radio on to the Browntown Symphony.”
“Now, Betty,” said Mr. Kunkle. “You know that it
is...”
“I know, Dad. It's good for me. I'll have to use a
neighbor's phone to phone. It is too loud at home.”
“Why, Betty, you can go over to composer Kunkle's
house. He has a telephone and he never listens to music. Ear damage, I understand.” Betty's mother nodded her head knowingly.
Two blocks down and one house over from the
Kunkle family, Betty found Composer Kunkle sitting
on his front porch with an air rifle on his knees. The
famous composer appeared discouraged. “I am on a
journey of personal discovery, Betty,” he explained.
27
“Find anything?”
“Shhhh. No, Betty, I have been too busy shooting
crickets. The noise... their chirping,” he explained. “I
asked myself a question, Betty—Where am I now...”
said the composer and paused as if waiting for an answer.
“You are shooting crickets in your front yard,” said
Betty helpfully.
“I am?” Piotr Ilyich Kunkle looked at the gun in his
hands then turned to survey his lawn. The front yard
glittered with tiny corpses. “My wife has left me for a
quieter neighborhood. Because of the shooting, I believe. And I need somebody to tell me what to do
next. Tragic, isn’t it? I only wanted to finish my masterpiece, Rhapsody for Pep Band and Clarinet.”
“You are a composer; you write music,” said Betty.
“A heavy-handed, hopeless composer, alas. My
muse has deserted me. My wife? She always had sensitive ears. Besides, ever listen to my stuff?”
“Uh, no. Not if I can help it.”
Magnetic Betty
“See? That’s what I mean about where am I.”
“You are on the porch with a BB gun.”
“Ahh, so I am. And without a wife or a muse to my
name.” Composer Kunkle seemed to have brightened
considerably just having someone to talk to. “How do
you feel, Betty?” He had noticed the tearstains on
Betty’s cheeks.
“Uh, Okay, I guess. Except all the Brownie Scouts
are avoiding me. For being, ah... peculiar.”
“Ah, yes—your magnetism thingy.” A cricket
chirped in a neighbor’s yard. “It’s alright, guys,” said
Piotr Ilyich Kunkle. “You can come out now.”
“Mister Kunkle, can I use your telephone? My
Mom said to call Dolby Jenks.”
“The World's Champion Detective,” exclaimed the
famous composer. “You have his number?”
“Right here on my decoder ring,” said Betty as she
picked up the phone. It was a long number. The telephone rang and rang, then there was a click and a
booming baritone voice rattled in Betty’s earpiece:
29
“This is a recorded message.
I am probably
away from the
office. Are you
sure you wanted
to call this number? I shall pause
a moment as you
consider your
reply.” The Ride
of the Valkyries came on the line.
“He’s got me on hold,” said Betty. “And it’s loud.”
“I can hear,” said the composer. “That’s the tune
they play on TV when the helicopters attack.”
After three minutes the music faded and the mellifluous baritone came back on. “Hi, there... this is me
and not a recording. I use the music to keep unwanted
Magnetic Betty
callers at bay. Dolby Jenks, World’s Champion Detective. How may I help you?”
Betty explained the problem. “And so you see,
things fly through the air and stick to me when I walk
by. None of my friends’ mothers will let them play
with me.”
“Have you sent in for your decoder ring? Without
it, I'm afraid I can't help you.”
“I certainly have. I'm Betty—Betty Kunkle?”
“Ah, the very one. And thank you for your twentyfive cents, Betty. Every box top counts.”
“And the answer is...” Betty held her pencil poised,
expecting an encoded reply.
“A tricky business,” replied Dolby Jenks, World's
Champion Detective. “Not my field, I'm afraid, Betty.
I would suggest that you find different friends with
different mothers.”
“Browntown is very small, Mr. Jenks,” Betty said.
“Everyone knows me.”
31
5
The Kunkles of Browntown did their best to adjust to
life without omelettes. Mr. Kunkle went to the office
where he folded papers into tiny airplanes and stared
out of the window. He waited by the phone in case
the frying pan had had a change of heart and called
home.
Mrs. Kunkle transported her daughter to dance
class, baton twirling, pottery and macramé classes,
drama classes and clarinet lessons. Both before and
after school. Her mother even made Betty a spangled
suit, just to cheer her up, in the attic where Mrs. Kunkle had her sewing room. “Baton twirling and the
clarinet are sure-fire, can't miss. You will be there for
every football game. And if your knees get cold in
your spangled suit, you can wrap up in a blanket
when you play your clarinet with the Pep Band.”
Magnetic Betty
Now, the Kunkle Elementary Pep Band was conducted by none other than Piotr Ilyich Kunkle, the
famous composer, who as it happened was just about
to ring the doorbell—the very same doorbell rung
previously by Amanda Thistle—when Betty opened
the door on a hunch.
“You had a hunch, then Betty?” said Piotr Ilyich
Kunkle, the famous composer.
“I had a hunch that our frying pan might have come
back home,” said Betty.
“Even better than that, Betty,” said composer Kunkle. “I have just now finished my Magnetic Rhapsody
for Pep Band and Clarinet and you have the solo part.
I thought you would be pleased.”
“But I cannot play the clarinet with my mouth full
of soda crackers,” said Betty. “If only I had an omelette.”
33
“Well, omelettes are brain food—this is a wellknown scientific fact,” said composer Kunkle. “But
we will have to make do with soda crackers. There's
no problem that can't be fixed with a good solution.
Let's think about it.”
Magnetic Betty
“OK,” said Betty. And they sat down together on
the steps of the Kunkle house.
“Hmm...” said Piotr Ilyich Kunkle, the famous
composer.
“Ahh...” said Betty.
“I've got it!” said Piotr Ilyich Kunkle, the famous
composer.
“Ooo...” said Betty.
“No, I don't.” said Piotr Ilyich Kunkle, the famous
composer.
“Aww...” said Betty.
“We are thinking, right?” asked Piotr Ilyich Kunkle, his pencil poised to write things down.
“Sounds like it,” said Betty as she reached for another soda cracker.
Honeybunny, the Kunkle family dog, circled at
their feet. Honeybunny woofed. “I think she likes
you, Mr. Kunkle,” said Betty.
“My ex-wife liked me, too,” said the composerturned-writer. “Now look.” Piotr Ilyich Kunkle
pointed to himself; he was decidedly unkempt. He
35
was hunched over the yellow legal pad he always carried in case of an idea. “Ouch!” He felt the muscles of
his back tighten. “The latissimus dorsi,” he said.
“How much do you have so far?”
Composer Kunkle held up the pad so that Betty
could see. The paper was blank. “Nothing. Not a
word. And if I did really, really did have an idea it
would be awful, I just know it. Something to leave in
a railroad station never to go back to again.”
“Wow, Composer Kunkle. What does it feel like to
have your yellow legal pad have nothing to say to
you?” Betty was thinking about Amanda Thistle, her
best friend even though she was not named Kunkle,
and whose parents had forbidden her to have anything
to do with Betty. “It might be catching,” they said.
“Humbling, Betty. Humbling albeit strangely liberating while at the same time strangely contrapuntal.”
“You need a focus, Composer Kunkle,” said Betty.
“Just the thing,” said the famous composer, springing to his feet. “The very thing. Ouch!”
Magnetic Betty
“Latissimus dorsi,” said Betty.
“Eureka...” said Piotr Ilyich Kunkle. “I do have it.
We will broadcast the Magnetic Rhapsody and every
radio in Browntown will be tuned in.” The famous
composer had come up with a solution and just in the
nick of time. Because in each and every corner of the
flat, square and horizontal Earth people were understandably glum. “The music will cheer them up,” said
the composer. “And the omelette pans will be sure to
hear you play your clarinet and they will come back
home. You will be the pan-piper of Browntown,
Home of the Ocelots. Mind if I have another soda
cracker?”
“Help yourself,” said Betty. “I've got a clarinet to
play.”
6
And so, the frying pans came back. Piotr Ilyich Kunkle's Magnetic Rhapsody was played on the radio and
37
all the residents of Browntown had been alerted to
turn their radios up loud so the pots and pans would
be sure to hear and wonder what all the commotion
was about. The omelette pans returned to their kitchens, the omelettes returned to the omelette pans,
dishwashers hummed, washing machines gurgled and
splashed, and no major appliances ran away from
home. In far Australia the kangaroos contentedly
played Scrabble and ate crème-filled pies with the
Browns.
And in American Samoa (you will have to check an
Atlas on this one), where the North Pole had relocated after the magnetic reversal predicted in the
pages of the Scientific American, Santa Claus chuckled in his aloha shirt. For from that day forward, all
the children of the world got letters from Santa instead of sending their letters to him. Santa wrote and
told you what you were going to get. And when. And
that was that. After thousands of years making hit-
Magnetic Betty
your-brakes turns at the corners of the world, Santa
had decided it was time to slow down.
And what about Dolby Jenks, World's Number One
Champion Detective, the hero of Betty's favorite radio program?
“This is Browntown Radio,” the announcer said,
“...All Kunkle All the Time. We regret that Dolby
Jenks and the Adventure of the Shanghai Princess,
Part Sixteen will not be heard today in order that we
may bring you a rebroadcast of Blow Your Nose in a
Garden Hose by the renowned composer Piotr Ilyich
Kunkle. But wait. This note has just been handed to
me.” There was a rustle of paper to show that the announcer had an authentic note. “There are some Thistles in Browntown. The Thistles are second cousins,
twice removed.”
“That's Amanda,” said Betty. “Mom, what is a removed cousin?”
“That is a figure of speech, dear. The Thistles are
cousins of the Browns who went to Australia. Except
the Thistles stayed home.”
39
“Well,” said Mr. Kunkle. “Dolby Jenks is still a fictional personage, removed or not. Sorry about that.
Let us all enjoy our omelettes.”
The end
Magnetic Betty
Magnetic Betty was first published in the February 2009 Nautilus Engine, an online speculative fiction (Sci-Fi and Fantasy)
magazine.
Magnetic Betty was written by Rob Hunter and illustrated by
Lee Suta. Like many good Mainers, Rob and Lee come from
someplace else.
Rob Hunter does dishes, mows the lawn and keeps his coastal
Maine cottage spotless by moving as little as possible. In a
former life he was a newspaper copy boy, railroad telegraph
operator, recording engineer and film editor. He spent the 70s
and 80s as a Top-40 disc jockey. He won a plaque once, for
production excellence, from the Maine Association of Broadcasters. The boss kept it.
Lee Suta is an artist who has done scenic work for films, also
commercials, Broadway, Off-Broadway, nowhere near Broadway, opera, ballet, display, parades, domestic and hotel
interiors. He has painted snow green (Riverside Park New
York—Death Wish).
About This Title
(the legal stuff)
Magnetic Betty is licensed under a Creative Commons copyright which reserves some rights for the reader, too. Creative
Commons is a non-profit consortium that offers an alternative
to full copyright. Offering work under a Creative Commons
license does not mean giving up copyright. All rights are reserved by the author but with some exceptions.
Check them out at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-ncnd/3.0/
No creatures real or imagined were injured in the making of
Magnetic Betty.
Podcasting and MP3 Audio
Thanks for buying this book. There is an audiobook version of
Magnetic Betty, too. It’s free. The Internet address is
www.onetinleg.com. Click “sitemap” and scroll down to the
Stories Index. Choose your option: stream or download. Or
copy the URL in the box below into your preferred podcasting
software (e.g. Feedreader, iTunes, iPodder). You will automatically receive fresh onetinleg.com podcasts each time
they're published.
http://www.onetinleg.com/onetinlegRSS.xml
A podcast downloads audio files to your MP3 player through
your computer. You use a free application to “subscribe” to
onetinleg.com's feed, the application checks the site regularly
and starts a download whenever it finds something new. If you
like what you hear, tell your friends. I'm glad to have you as a
listener. And you are invited to browse through oneinleg.com’s
Free Reads section.
To download—right click “Download” and select “Save Target As” or “Save Link As” depending on your browser. To
preview a story just click “stream.”
These MP3 downloads are released under a Creative Commons license. They’re free. Copy the files as much as you
want, pass ‘em around. All I ask is that you don’t alter the file
or sell it.
Also by Rob Hunter
—Lost in Willipaq: Lovers, Losers, and Part-time Demons
—The Quilter Who Went to Hell
—Platterland: Nine Stories and a Novella
—Midwife in the Tire Swing
I Loved the Book...
I think it's terrific. It's weird and wonderful with a completely
absurd (to the point of dada), innocent voice. I'd like to see it
illustrated as a children's book. Thank you for submitting it (to
The Nautilus Engine).
—Ron Warren, Editor www.thenautilusengine.com