| THOMAS J. PRESTOPNIK |
| ~ The Author's Official Website ~ |
| _________________________________ |
| _________________________________ |
| Copyright © Thomas J. Prestopnik 2005 - 2012 All rights reserved. www.TomPresto.com |
| Read Chapter Two from A CHRISTMAS CASTLE |
| CHAPTER TWO |
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 weather vane 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
Read Chapter 3
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 weather vane 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
Read Chapter 3
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