The Crazy Christmas Angel Mystery Page 2

  “I learned it at church,” Dunkum said.

  Eric thought about the spelling list. “Does Miss Hershey go, too?” he asked.

  Dunkum stood up. “I’ve never seen her there. But I have a feeling she goes to church somewhere.”

  It was time to leave. Eric had important plans. He headed straight for Mr. Tressler’s house. The moon was as big as a basketball. Full moons were like that.

  Just then, Dee Dee’s kitten jumped out of the bushes. Eric stopped. A cat this small could freeze to death. Eric ran after him. “Come here, Mister Whiskers.”

  Meow. The cat headed down the sidewalk to Mr. Tressler’s. Leaping over mounds of snow, Mister Whiskers seemed to know where he was going. Straight to the old man’s front porch!

  Eric’s heart was pounding hard. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he called softly. Eric tiptoed through the snow, reaching out for the fluffy gray kitten.

  Then Mister Whiskers leaped onto the window sill. Boldly, he pranced across.

  This is horrible! thought Eric. Then he looked up.

  He could see the old man’s shadow in the window. By the light of a dozen candles, Mr. Tressler was putting up a Christmas tree.

  Eric couldn’t see clearly through the sheer curtain. But he could see Mr. Tressler’s long nose and pointy chin.

  Eric shivered in the darkness. The whole thing was creepy. He moved closer to get a better look.

  Candles flickered in the window. Moon shadows danced on the snow. Then Mister Whiskers meowed like a trumpet in the stillness.

  “Be quiet!” Eric shouted.

  FLASH—the porch light.

  Eric spun around and ran for his life!

  SIX

  Eric slammed his front door. He leaned hard against it, gasping for breath. He was safe!

  “What’s the matter?” his mother asked.

  Eric tossed his jacket onto the hook in the closet. His chest moved up and down. He could hardly talk.

  “Eric, are you all right?” she said.

  He waved his hands in front of his face. “It’s Mister Whiskers . . . he’s out there . . . in the cold . . . somewhere.”

  “That poor little thing?”

  Eric nodded. “I was trying to catch him and take him home.” It was only half the truth.

  “Well, I think you’d better bundle up and try again.” She pulled his coat down off the hook and held it up.

  Eric didn’t say a word. He was too scared. Too scared to go back out there and look for Mister Whiskers. Closing the door behind him, Eric stayed on his front porch. It felt safer there.

  He looked at Mr. Tressler’s house. The porch light was still on. But Mister Whiskers was nowhere to be seen.

  Slowly, Eric crept into the night.

  He studied the shadows behind the living room curtains. It looked like Mr. Tressler was decorating his tree.

  If only he had Grandpa’s field glasses. His grandpa used them for bird-watching in the spring. Eric wished he had them now. He could stay far enough away from the old man’s house.

  Eric went back inside. He asked Grandpa for the field glasses—very politely.

  “Why do you want them?” Grandpa asked.

  “They might help me find Mister Whiskers.” Eric felt bad about lying to Grandpa.

  “How can you find a cat in the dark?” his grandfather asked.

  “Please, just let me try?” Eric pleaded.

  Grandpa pulled himself up out of his chair. He muttered something and went upstairs.

  Eric crossed his fingers, hoping.

  When his grandpa came down, Eric saw the field glasses. Yes!

  Promising to take care of them, Eric dashed outside. Now . . . for a good hiding place.

  He looked around the cul-de-sac. His eyes stopped in front of Stacy’s house. There stood her fat snowman. It was perfect!

  He crossed the street and headed for the snowman.

  Crouching down, Eric held the glasses. He turned the button. Slowly, Mr. Tressler’s living room came into view. Candles flickered everywhere.

  Through the curtains, Eric saw Mr. Tressler hang a string of Christmas lights. He wondered if the old man was smiling. He wished he could see his face. Eric remembered the scary face and changed his mind.

  Mr. Tressler hung up some round ornaments. Last, the Christmas angel.

  Eric could almost hear Mr. Tressler grunting and groaning as he reached up. Just like Grandpa. The angel came to rest at the top. The old man stepped back for a long look.

  Then the most shocking thing happened. Mr. Tressler stepped closer to the tree. He reached up to touch the angel and . . .

  It began to fly! Around and around the room it glided.

  Eric felt glued to the spot behind the snowman. Reading about stuff like this was one thing. But seeing it? Wait till he told the Cul-de-sac Kids!

  He stood on his toes for a better look. The angel was still doing its thing. Drifting through the air, around the living room!

  “Whatcha doin’?” someone said behind him.

  Eric jumped a foot high.

  It was Dee Dee Winters.

  “You should never sneak up behind someone like that!” Eric scolded.

  “Mister Whiskers is lost!”

  “I know. I’ll help you in a second,” Eric said. “Here, look through these first.” He held the field glasses up for Dee Dee. “See that angel flying around?”

  Dee Dee was silent as she watched. Little puffs of air came out of her nose. Finally, she said, “Wow! What’s happenin’ over there?”

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” Eric said.

  Dee Dee nodded. Her eyes grew bigger and bigger. “I’ve never seen a real angel before.”

  “Me neither.”

  Dee Dee was shivering hard.

  “Come on, I’ll help you find your cat,” Eric said.

  They crossed the street together.

  Meow. Meow.

  Eric stopped. “Did you hear that?”

  Dee Dee called, “Here, Mister Whiskers.”

  More meows. Shaky, shivery meows.

  They found frosty Mister Whiskers under Eric’s porch. Dee Dee bent down and picked him up. “Thank you, Eric.”

  “It was nothing,” he said. “Hurry home. And be careful who you talk to—about Mr. Tressler’s angel.”

  “I’m gonna call Carly right away.” And she turned around and left.

  Eric darted into his house. He had to make some phone calls, too.

  The crazy Christmas angel was stranger than any mystery he had ever read!

  SEVEN

  Eric called Dunkum first. “You’ll never believe what I saw tonight,” he bragged.

  Dunkum was all ears. He wanted to see for himself. Abby and Jason and Stacy did too.

  So . . . Eric had a plan. The Cul-de-sac Kids would have a meeting tomorrow night—behind the snowman in Stacy’s yard.

  Terrific!

  He zipped off to his room to do his homework. The book report was due tomorrow. He would have to write fast to get it done.

  Knock, knock.

  “Come in,” Eric called.

  It was Grandpa. He wanted his field glasses back.

  Gulp! Eric scratched his head. He must have left them outside. His face was getting hot. It was his own fault. His, and that crazy angel’s!

  “Wait, Grandpa. I’ll be right back,” Eric said. He flew down the stairs, yanked at his coat, and ran outside.

  Eric scrambled across the street to the snowman. He leaned over to look. Nothing.

  He got down on his hands and knees. He patted the snowy ground. Nothing.

  Grandpa’s field glasses were gone!

  Eric felt the lump in his throat grow bigger. He stood up and leaned against the snowman. He brushed the snow off his jeans.

  When he looked up, the field glasses were staring at him. Carefully, he picked them off the snowman’s shoulder.

  Eric held them up and looked through them.

  Whew! They were okay.

  While he was
checking them, something caught his eye. Across the street, at Mr. Tressler’s house things were crazy. Crazier than ever!

  Eric tuned up the field glasses. Could it be true? Were his eyes playing tricks?

  Slowly, Eric moved towards Mr. Tressler’s house. He got as close as the hedge.

  Field glasses do not lie.

  The angels had multiplied! Dozens were flying around the old man. He was swaying this way and that way. Mr. Tressler was dancing with the angels. It looked like he was having the time of his life.

  Eric wanted to watch forever. Something deep inside him sprang up. It was a strange, warm feeling and it wouldn’t go away. He knew he had to meet Mr. Tressler. Face-to-face!

  Eric rushed to the old man’s front porch. He shook as he stuffed the field glasses into his pocket. More than anything, he wanted to ring the doorbell. But his finger wouldn’t move. He forced his arm up—shaking with fear.

  “Eric!” It was Grandpa’s voice.

  Eric jumped a foot. The second time tonight. He leaped over the snowy walkway to his house. He held up the field glasses. “Here they are, Grandpa.”

  Grandpa frowned.

  “I’m sorry about your glasses” Eric said. He was sorry about something else, too. Not getting to meet Mr. Tressler.

  “Those glasses were expensive,” Grandpa said, shaking his finger at Eric.

  Eric looked up at Grandpa’s soft blue eyes. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “And that is the truth,” Grandpa muttered. He climbed the stairs, grunting all the way.

  So much for borrowing Grandpa’s stuff. Eric dashed upstairs to finish his book report.

  Then he thought of something. If he hadn’t left Grandpa’s glasses outside, he might have missed the strange sight next door. The angels had multiplied!

  Now Eric had a big mystery on his hands. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Then he had an idea. It might not solve the mystery, but it would show a little kindness.

  EIGHT

  The next morning, Eric trudged through the snow. He headed to Mr. Tressler’s house—to deliver a newspaper free of charge. Eric would pay for it himself, out of his earnings.

  Eric tiptoed up the porch steps. He turned the handle on the storm door. And he placed the paper in the space between two doors.

  Inside, a cuckoo clock sang out the time. Six cuckoos in a row.

  Eric checked his watch. Six o’clock, right on the dot. He turned to leave, but the sound of a flute stopped him. It was coming from inside Mr. Tressler’s house.

  Eric froze in his tracks.

  Mr. Tressler plays the flute.

  Eric listened.

  It was music for the angels! He chuckled to himself as silver full-moon sounds floated around him.

  He leaned against the porch railing and felt lucky—the only one to hear the magic. He breathed it in and held it close.

  Then the music stopped. And the front door opened. Eric sprang off the porch and dashed down the street.

  After supper, the Cul-de-sac Kids met in Stacy’s front yard as planned. Abby was president, so she called the meeting to order. That was easy. The only reason for the meeting was to see the angels. At Mr. Tressler’s house.

  Dunkum set up his telescope. Eric had first look. The angels were flying all right. And Mr. Tressler was prancing and swaying.

  Carly and Dee Dee took turns looking through the telescope. Shawn and Jimmy were next.

  Jason couldn’t wait his turn. “If there’s a man dancing with angels, I’ve got to see it!” He walked across the street for a closer look. Dunkum followed.

  Eric stayed behind with Abby and Stacy, near the snowman.

  “I should invite Mr. Tressler to our Christmas play,” Abby said. “He could appear to the shepherds and bring his heavenly host.”

  Stacy laughed. “Good idea.”

  “What do you think makes them fly, Eric?” Abby said, after her turn.

  “Batteries, probably,” said Eric. But he didn’t know. Not really. He watched as the angels circled Mr. Tressler’s head.

  Carly asked, “Do the batteries ever run down?”

  “Sooner or later,” Eric said, like he knew.

  Just then, Dunkum and Jason came running. “Huddle up,” Dunkum called.

  The kids grabbed each other’s arms and made a circle.

  Dunkum had a plan. “Let’s take a Christmas present to Mr. Tressler. Then we can find out what’s going on in there.”

  “We’ve done enough spying,” said Abby. “Let’s sing Christmas carols for him. To welcome him to the cul-de-sac.”

  Everyone liked that idea. Everyone but Eric.

  “I sing flat,” Eric said.

  “You could whistle,” Abby suggested.

  Leave it to Abby, thought Eric.

  “Someone needs to introduce us after we sing,” Abby said.

  The kids looked at Eric.

  “Why me?” Eric said.

  “You got us out here,” said Dunkum.

  “Yeah, hurry up, it’s cold,” said Dee Dee.

  Eric didn’t want to do the talking. He didn’t want to whistle Christmas carols. Besides, what if Mr. Tressler was real creepy and scared everyone away?

  What then?

  NINE

  “It’s too late to go caroling now,” Eric said. He was chickening out.

  Abby stuck up for him. “Eric’s right—besides, we need to practice first.”

  “How about everyone giving Mr. Tressler a gift? I’ll make him a Christmas card,” Stacy said. She was good at that.

  “Definitely,” said Abby.

  “Don’t forget the Christmas cookies,” Dee Dee piped up.

  Shawn wanted to give something, too. “I teach Mr. Tressler Korean folk tune.”

  Jimmy jumped up and down. “I sing, too!”

  “Hey, great idea,” said Dunkum.

  “What about you?” Eric asked him. “What will you bring?”

  Dunkum laughed. “Maybe I could write a poem about angels and mysteries. You know, from the Christmas spelling list.”

  Eric liked that. So did the others.

  Jason couldn’t stand still. He was like that when his hyper medicine wore off. “I could dance with Mr. Tressler’s angels,” said Jason. He jigged around the snowman.

  Dee Dee giggled. “Me too!”

  “If we sing the carols loud enough, he might open the door,” said Jason. “Then we can see those flying Christmas angels of his.”

  “Wait a minute,” Carly spoke up. “I thought we were doing it to be friendly—not to spy.”

  Abby put her arm around her little sister. Carly grinned up at Abby in the moonlit night.

  The moonlight reminded Eric of Mr. Tressler’s flute. That strange, warm feeling stirred inside him again. Maybe caroling for Mr. Tressler wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe he would give the old man a gift after all.

  “I want to give our new neighbor something he’ll never forget,” Eric said.

  “What is it?” the kids shouted.

  “A friend,” Eric said. He was thinking of his grandpa.

  “Now everyone has something to give,” said Abby. “Meet tomorrow after school at Dunkum’s.”

  The kids scattered and went home.

  Eric still wasn’t sure about those angels. Did they run on batteries? Maybe not. Maybe Mr. Tressler was a true angel keeper. If so, Grandpa might be just the friend for him.

  Sometimes, late at night, Eric could hear Grandpa talking to God. Some people called it praying. But with Grandpa it was just plain talking.

  Eric went to his room and put on his pajamas. He thought about Mr. Tressler. How could the old man dance with angels and still be so creepy?

  TEN

  It was December 15th.

  After school, the Cul-de-sac Kids met at Dunkum’s. They practiced five songs. They sang them five times in a row. “Silent Night” and “Jingle Bells” were good, but “Angels We Have Heard on High” was the best.

&nbs
p; Eric whistled. Jason jigged. And Abby said they sounded double dabble good.

  The next night, the kids lined up on Mr. Tressler’s porch. Candles burned in the window. No one moved. Eric took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell.

  When the porch light came on, the kids started to sing “Joy to the World.” Eric whistled along.

  Slowly the door opened.

  There stood the old man without a smile. He reached for his cane!

  Eric froze.

  Mr. Tressler raised his cane in the air.

  He’s gonna chase us away! thought Eric.

  Instead, the cane began to wave in time to the music. Mr. Tressler kept it up through “Silent Night” and “Frosty the Snowman.”

  But then, Mr. Tressler left.

  What should they do?

  Eric started whistling “Jingle Bells” as loud as he could.

  The old man came back with his flute. He began to play along, with his eyes closed.

  Eric felt a lump in his throat. The old man wasn’t scary. Not one bit!

  At the end, the kids clapped.

  Mr. Tressler bowed low. “Thank you kindly,” he said. “And you—what voices! You sound like the angels.”

  Angels! Eric peeked around the corner. He didn’t see any angels. Had the batteries run down?

  Abby pointed to Eric. It was time for him to talk. He introduced Stacy Henry first.

  Stacy gave Mr. Tressler an angel Christmas card made from white construction paper. Glittery gold.

  “Welcome to our cul-de-sac,” she said.

  “Thank you, dear” said Mr. Tressler.

  Eric pointed to Dee Dee Winters and said her name.

  She handed him a basket of Christmas cookies. “I hope you like angel cookies.”

  Carly stood beside her. “She made them and I sprinkled them.” The girls giggled.

  The old man nodded. “Thank you, indeed.”

  Eric said, “Now Shawn and Jimmy Hunter want to teach you a Korean folksong.”

  The boys started to sing. The rest of the kids tried to join in on the chorus. Everyone clapped at the end. Even Mr. Tressler.

  Dunkum seemed shy when his turn came. “I made up a poem for you.”

  Eric could see the words angel and mystery on the paper. They were spelled right. Good for Dunkum!