AUTHOR'S NOTE: This'll do for a title until I can think of something better. As always, The Impossibles and Big D belong to Hanna-Barbera. Everyone else you encounter is mine. Also, all of the amusement parks mentioned are my own creation, with the exception of Frivolous Gardens, as that was once mentioned in an actual Impossibles cartoon. City names are also made up, but if I should have happened to come up with the actual name for something, it was by coincidence.
The singing Impossibles were driving along in their Impossi-Mobile, having just completed their concert gig at the Fun World Amusement Park in Harper, South Carolina. They were playing every major amusement park in the country on this tour. They had started in Frivolous Gardens near their hometown of Megatropolis, The Sunshine Factory, in Cherry Hill, California, Enchanted Gardens in Goldrush, Nevada, Soda Springs Park in Soda Springs, Colorado, Fantasy Frontier in Emerald City, Kansas, Corny Corners in Cornball, Iowa, Fricassee Funland in Chicken Rivers, Kentucky, and Funville in Presley, Tennessee. Multi's puppy, Skittles, didn't like this tour. She wasn't allowed inside any of the theme parks.
"What's our next stop, Fluey?" Coiley asked.
"Kiddie Land USA in Cottonwood, Alabama," Fluey said, checking the band's itinerary.
"All the way in Alabama?" Multi asked, scratching Skittles behind her ears. "None in Georgia?"
"None," Fluey said, double checking the schedule. "I asked Phyllis about it, and she said there wasn't a major amusement park in Georgia anymore."
"Anymore?" Coiley asked.
"Yeah, the only one there closed in nineteen ten," Fluey said. "I don't know why, though. I asked Big D if he remembered anything about it."
"What did he say?" Multi said.
"He said, and I quote," Fluey replied, pausing for a minute. "Watch it, young man."
Multi and Coiley began laughing. They knew their chief didn't like any comments about his age.
For the entire day, the boys drove down the highways, and it was a heck of a drive. By sundown, they had entered a small town called Peach Pit, Georgia, and Coiley stopped in front of a small motel, which had a huge orange neon sign shaped like a peach. Inside the peach was green neon script that said "Peach Pit Inn." Next to the motel was a diner.
"Why are we stopping here?" Fluey asked.
"It's getting late and I'm tired of leaving the Impossi-Mobile on auto-pilot and sleeping in the car," Coiley replied.
Multi and Fluey happened to agree with that one. The boys grabbed their stuff, and walked into the lobby. The desk clerk looked up at them. He forced a smile as they walked up to the desk.
"Evenin'," he said. "What can ah do for y'all?"
"We'd like a room for the night," Coiley said.
"Hmmmm . . . . ." the clerk said. "Well . . . . . ah think you boys would be bettuh off in Atlanta."
"Atlanta?!" Fluey shouted. "Come on, man, that's miles from here!"
"Yeah, we've been driving all day," Multi said.
"There are rooms available, aren't there?" Coiley asked. "Your sign said vacancy."
"So it does," the clerk said. "How about that? Heh, heh."
"Do you have a pet policy or something?" Multi asked, scratching Skittles behind the ears. "I mean, we didn't see anything that said no pets allowed or anything like that."
"No, no, ah don't have a problem with the dog," the clerk said, then he added, under his breath, "It's that dern Yankee Dawson y'all walked in with ah've got the problem with."
"What did you say?" Fluey asked.
"Nothin'," the clerk said. Then he sighed. "All right. Ah'll give you a room. But ah cain't be held responsible for anythin' if you fellers hang around heah too long."
The boys stared at the clerk oddly, but signed the register anyway. Once they got the key to their room, they stashed their stuff, and went next door to the diner for something to eat. The minute they walked in, all activity stopped. Everyone in the diner turned to stare at them.
"Why are they looking at us like that?" Fluey asked.
"Probably not used to seeing rock and roll singers," Multi shrugged. Skittles began whimpering.
"This town doesn't seem to be very friendly," Coiley said. They were about to walk over to a table when a waitress walked over at stopped them.
"Hold it, hold it, hold it!" she shouted. "Ah'm afraid you cain't come in heah. We don't serve dogs."
"Oh," Multi said. "No problem. We'll just take her back to our motel room and . . . . ."
"Ah wasn't talkin' about the puppy," the waitress said. "She's welcome heah. Ah was talkin' about him!"
The waitress then thrust her finger right at Fluey, leaving the dark-haired Impossible looking confused.
"Me?!" he shouted. "What do you mean?"
"Ah know a no-good, rotten, dirty, dern Yankee Dawson when ah see one!" the waitress yelled. "Your kind ain't welcome heah in Peach Pit! Now get out!"
"My kind?" Fluey asked. "What do you mean my kind?"
"No Dawson would dare set foot in this town!" the waitress shouted again.
"Come on, fellas, let's split," Fluey said.
"Yeah, we can take a hint," Multi said.
"Now, wait a minute," the waitress said. "You two and the dog can come in, it's your friend that's got to go."
"No dice, lady," Coiley replied. "It's all or nothing with us."
"Wait heah," the waitress sighed, and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came out, followed by a man in a business suit.
"Good evenin', gentlemen, ah'm the managuh of this heah dinuh," he said. "Ah apologize for the waitress. Please have a seat, and anothuh servuh will be with you shortly."
"Thanks," Multi said as he, Coiley, and Fluey sat down at the table.
"Dirty Yankee Dawson or not, if they're a payin' customuh, they come in," the manager said.
"Okay, hold it a minute here," Fluey said. "What's all this about me being a dirty Yankee Dawson?"
"Well, suh, it's a bit involved," the manager said. "But it happened durin' the War Between the States."
"The Civil War?" Multi asked.
"We prefuh to call it the War Between the States heah in Peach Pit," the manager said. "And let me tell you boys somethin', the Massacre of Peach Pit wasn't a purdy sight, mostly thanks to a charactuh known as General Bennington Butluh Dawson. Wait right heah. Ah'll be right back."
The manager went into the kitchen, and returned with a large book titled The Complete History of Peach Pit, Georgia. He opened it to a page about the Civil War, and showed it to the boys.
"The Battle of Peach Pit, eighteen sixty-three," Multi said, reading the title of the page. "Led by Yankee general, Bennington Butler Dawson."
"General Dawson led them Yankee troops down heah to Peach Pit," the manager went on. "And most Yankees call it the Battle of Peach Pit, but it was more of a massacre! General Dawson wiped out nearly all of our soldiers! Lot of us heah had ancestors in that war, includin' my great-great-great grandpappy. The Yankees claimed him a hero. We heah in Peach Pit thought of him more as a murderuh!"
"I can see that," Fluey said, skimming through the section in the book. "The description of the fight in this book sounds more like a blood bath than a battle!"
Fluey turned the page, and there was a picture of General Dawson. Fluey nearly had a heart attack when he saw it.
"Holy double takes!" he shouted. "Fellas, look!"
"Uncanny," Coiley said, looking at the picture, and then his bandmate. "You look a lot like General Dawson, Fluey!"
"Why are you so surprised, anyway, Fluey?" Multi asked.
"Well, I thought Dawson was kind of a common name," Fluey said with a shrug. "I didn't think he'd end up being my great-great-great-great grandfather, or something like that. It sure explains why people are giving us the cold shoulder here, though."
"Exactly," the manager said. "People heah tend to hold a grudge. Especially General Beauregarde B. Beauregarde. He hated anyone that had to do with the Dawson family. But he got over it aftuh awhile. Aftuh the war ended, General Dawson stahted courtin' General Beauregarde's daughtuh, Dixie Belle. General Beauregarde wasn't too happy 'bout that. One day, Dixie Belle was found dead, and General Dawson had up and disappeared. He was nevuh heard from again. In eighteen ninety, General Beauregarde built Dixie Land, which is down the road a piece, named aftuh his daughtuh, Dixie Belle. But it closed down in nineteen ten. Nobody knows why. Mattuh of fact, it's still theah."
"It is, huh?" Coiley asked. "Since nineteen ten?"
"Yessuh," the manager said. "Nobody's got the guts to go teah it down. Strange things happen ovuh in that ol' park. Some folks say it's haunted. Personally, I think that's just a load of bull."
The boys just looked at each other, and gave the book back to the diner manager, and said nothing. They were going to leave town in the morning anyway. After all, they had a gig in Alabama to play.