| Eight-year-old Jack Mason scooped up fresh snow from a corner of the backyard with a red plastic rectangular form and patted it down with his gloved hand, scraping off the excess until he had a flat working surface. The waxing gibbous moon, nearly full that Christmas night, climbed high in the east and peeked through the tips of the pine trees clustered near the two-story green clapboard house. Jack trudged toward a tall maple tree in the middle of the yard, eager to lay the last brick on the side wall of his snow castle built beside it. He flipped the form over, resting it upon the last open space in the snow wall, then shook the plastic form free, slowly lifting it to reveal a near-perfect brick. Jack stepped back to examine his work. The rear wall and two sides of his castle, each about three feet high, were now complete. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “Unbelievable…” he whispered to the night, slowly nodding, his arms akimbo. “Julie will definitely like this.” He adjusted the navy-blue knit cap on his head of dark hair and tightened the red tartan scarf around his neck. A field of icy-white stars dropped their light through the brittle air. Jack reached down and lifted a dented metal watering can filled with blue tinted water his mother had mixed, carefully coating the new wall so it matched the other two. In his mind, he was already formulating a plan to construct the front wall and doorway, a Herculean task if ever there was one. But for Julie Almega, his neighbor across the street and classmate, the task would be worth the hours. Jack imagined Julie’s beaming smile when she finally saw the finished project. How could she not be amazed, he thought, not noticing the slightly bowed walls with nonexistent right angles, but seeing only a fortress worthy of Camelot. “Jack, time to come inside.” His mother’s voice drifted through the cluster of shadows near the back door. “Aunt Marge and Uncle Dave are on their way over to visit.” “Just ten more minutes?” “Well, all right, but not a second more, young man. You’ll turn into an icicle,” she said. “I’ll heat up a bowl of soup for you.” “Okay…” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik The back door closed, returning the yard to desert silence. The climbing moon, clearing the towering pines on the edge of the yard, ignited the crystalline snow with its stark white light. The edges of the snow walls glowed like blue diamonds. Jack was pleased with the effect, knowing that Julie would be equally impressed if she were with him now in the moonlight. But there was so much more to build, and Jack couldn’t wait until his castle was finished. Perhaps a moat was in order? Or maybe a watchtower? Jack envisioned a final grand design, his personal stamp upon the wintry landscape. He stroked his chin, smiling. Oh, he had such plans. Then he happened to glance up at the instant it flew by–a silent, fiery streak zooming sharply downward against the sky. It lasted only two or three seconds, yet the bright yellow flash was seared into Jack’s eyes for several moments. The meteor had descended at a steep angle, falling fast to the east like a blazing arrow. Jack took a gulp of cold air and held it, staring into the field of stars that still calmly glowed after the brief display of pyrotechnics. It had seemed so close when it rocketed by, as if he could have reached out and touched the meteor’s dazzling tendrils. He waited for a second show, but nothing happened. Jack exhaled. “A shooting star,” he whispered in awe, accepting it as a sign that his castle had been blessed by the heavens. Jack almost expected to hear a crash, wondering where the mighty light had met its demise. He raced to the east side of the yard, peering through the pine trees, thinking that a field of burning branches and smoking snow craters would be spread out before him. Only evening shadows mixed with moonlight played among the tree trunks. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik Jack dashed out front to the street and scrambled down the sidewalk past the next-door neighbor’s house. Just beyond that was a grove of birch and sugar maples, their bony branches webbed with lunar light. Jack stepped into the trees and shuffled ahead through undisturbed snow. The terrain dipped gently, opening up into a wide field a few yards ahead. As Jack approached the last of the trees, he slowed down, his eye catching a glint of distant light. He emerged from the thicket and stopped, absorbing the vista spread out before him like a watercolor canvas. A stretch of grassland, frozen in winter’s grip, sloped down for nearly fifty yards. Two houses lay at the bottom on Spruce Lane, a short dead-end road. A blast of moonlight glazed the snow with a pale blue luster. Jack advanced a few more steps, his boots now crunching through ice- coated snow after a bout of freezing rain from the previous night had frozen into a glistening crust. Jack paused again, this time clearly seeing a steady glow of yellow light near the distant road. It mesmerized him, enticing him closer like a moth to a flame. Jack plodded forward as if searching for an oasis in a frozen desert, each boot step punching a fresh hole into the crunchy snow. Closer and closer he drew, the light source hypnotic in its gentle strength. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik The two houses on Spruce Lane lay quiet, their front windows aglow with Christmas, their chimneys exhaling swirls of blue and gray smoke. One, a beige aluminum sided house with olive-green shutters, sat farther down the road to the left. The pine shrubbery guarding the modest house was bedecked with strings of Christmas bulbs the size of small plums. The second home of wood and brick dripped with icicles, a sprawling oak tree standing proudly next to it. On the right side of the house near the end of the road was an old barn used as a garage. Freshly painted apple-red with white trim last autumn, the barn stood at a slight angle to the house, its weathervane on top a cold silhouette against the moonlit sky. On the right side of the barn lay a huge snow bank, a heap of white winter smoothed by the persistent winds across the field and lacquered with a frozen finish. Jack walked slowly in that direction, heading for the snow bank. It was from there that the blazing yellow light originated, flowing down the sides of the bank like liquid illumination. Jack moved forward, each footfall breaking the icy surface as the source of the light gradually came into focus. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik And then, about twelve feet from the snow bank, Jack stopped. He drank in the night air as he stared ahead, his mouth agape. His head swam with wondrous confusion as if suddenly waking up in the middle of a deep and fantastic dream. Jack’s amazement far exceeded even that which he felt upon viewing his Christmas snow castle. He rubbed his eyes. He shook his head. He had found his shooting star. “Can’t believe it…” he whispered, studying the remarkable object. Jammed into the left side of the snow bank was a glowing, five-pointed star, one of its tips plunged nearly all the way into the snow. The vibrant yellow star measured three feet across. Jack admired the radiant beacon and glanced up at the stars, wondering whether another one might soon follow. He then decided that valor and determination were required on his part before he could share this story with anyone. So he took one more step forward, then another, and then a third, closing in on the star. Jack held out a hand, his gloved fingers glowing against the luminous backdrop, his face basking in the lustrous light. Only a few more steps and the star would be within reach. Only a few more steps… © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik Jack lifted his boot just as he heard the voices. A side door to the nearby house had suddenly opened. Several people spoke at once, apparently preparing to step outdoors. Somebody laughed. Another voice responded. Hurry and put your coat on! Jack craned his neck, scanning the terrain in every direction. He had to get out of here. Got that camera? Jack glanced over his shoulder, observing the trail of footprints leading back up the slope into the birch and sugar maples. He would never make it that way without being spotted. It’s quite a sight! Jack’s heart pounded. He’d have to circle around the block and up the hill to get back home. Wait’ll you see this! It should only take five minutes. But there was no more time to think. He had to run. Now! Jack spun to his left, crunching through the few remaining yards of snow until his feet hit the narrow stony road in front of the house. He dashed down the street, his eye catching a blur of Christmas tree lights shining through the front picture window. There were the voices again, and more laughter. Jack’s lungs burned with the cold. He felt as if he were in trouble. He couldn’t let them see him. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Jack marched up a hilly street twenty minutes later, wispy white puffs of air escaping through the gloved fingers he held in front of his mouth. His toes felt cold and his legs ached as he imagined the bowl of soup waiting for him on the kitchen table, probably lukewarm by now. He turned right and made it back to his own street, his house the fourth one down from the corner, the windows ablaze with welcoming light. He had made a complete circle as he hurried up the front walk in the deepening night. Before Jack’s foot touched the first porch step, the front door swung open. His body stiffened until he saw his oldest sister Loretta, now a senior in high school, step outside. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “Where have you been, Jack?” she said with an exasperated sigh. “I was about to go looking for you. Mom called out the door three times.” “I had to–look for something.” “Well, get inside. Aunt Marge and Uncle Dave have a present for you.” Jack tilted his head and grimaced. “Great. Probably another itchy sweater,” he muttered. “Merry Christmas!” Jack eased into the warmth of the front hallway, unwinding his scarf and pulling off the knit cap on his head, dropping both on the floor. Echoes of adult talk and laughter drifted from the kitchen in the back of the house. Jack’s cheeks were cold and scarlet. Loretta smirked at her brother as she removed her winter coat and placed it on a wall peg. “You look sunburned. Maybe Mom won’t scold you.” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “I just want hot soup.” Loretta nodded, walking down the paneled hallway bedecked with waves of silver garland. “All right. I’ll reheat it.” “Thanks.” Jack plopped on the floor and started to untie his snow boots. “Hey, Loretta. Can I ask you something?” His sister turned around. “Sure, Jack. What?” “Promise not to tell anyone?” he said in a low voice as he popped off one boot. “I promise,” she said, folding her arms. “What do you want to know?” “Do you really promise? I don’t want to get in trouble.” “I really promise,” Loretta said with a sigh of exasperation as Jack removed his other boot. “What is it?” “Just, umm…” Jack rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I need to know what a…” He signaled for Loretta to step closer so he could whisper to her in confidence. Jack raised himself on his tiptoes, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth as he softly spoke into his sister’s ear. Loretta stood back and gazed at her brother with a furrowed brow. “A secret what?” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik |
| ~ CHAPTER 2 ~ |
| A CHRISTMAS CASTLE |
| by Thomas J. Prestopnik © Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved. |
