The Crazy Christmas Angel Mystery (3 page)

Before dessert, Eric's mother brought out a handful of candles. She lit all of them. The dining room glowed with a magical, golden light.

Eric stared at the candles. There were twelve. They reminded him of the light in Mr. Tressler's spooky living room.

“Only twelve days till Christmas,” Eric's mother said. “I hope to finish my shopping this weekend.”

Eric glanced at the candle in front of his plate. He hadn't even started shopping. Oh well, there was plenty of time left.

He daydreamed into the candlelight. Suddenly, the old man's face popped out! It was the same scary face he'd seen that morning.

Yikes! Eric rubbed his eyes.

“Are you tired?” his mother asked.

“No,” Eric said quickly. He didn't want to be sent off to bed early. That would spoil his plans. The plans to spy on the mystery man.

FIVE

After supper, Eric hurried to Dunkum's house. The Christmas spelling list was ready.

Eric gave the first word. “Spell yule.”

Dunkum tried and missed. He left the “e” off the end. “I don't get it,” he said.

Eric held up a dictionary. “Find it in here.”

Dunkum looked and looked. At last he said, “Here it is. It means you will. You will shouldn't be on a Christmas spelling list.”

“Not y-o-u'-l-l,” Eric said. “Yule is a Christmas word. Here, let me show you.” He found the word in the dictionary. Y-u-l-e. Eric let Dunkum read it.

“Yule means Christmas?” asked Dunkum.

Eric nodded. “In Germany, where I was born, people used to burn yule logs at Christmas. It's a giant piece of firewood. Sometimes the whole trunk of a tree.”

“Wow! The whole trunk?” said Dunkum.

“Yep.”

“How does it fit into the fireplace?” asked Dunkum.

“Our fireplaces can't hold a yule log, but in the old days they could. Now my mom lights candles instead.”

Eric looked at the next word on the list.
Candlelight
. “I'll give you a hint,” he said. “This word is two words put together. It's a compound word.”

First try, Dunkum spelled it right.

Eric drilled his friend on all the words. When they came to
mystery
, Eric scratched his head. “I wonder why Miss Hershey put this word on the list.”

“Maybe she knows about the first Christmas,” Dunkum replied.

“What do you mean?” Eric asked.

“Well, the first Christmas was a true mystery. Only God could have set it up.”

Eric closed the dictionary. “Huh?”

“For one thing, Joseph and Mary didn't live in Bethlehem. But God knew way ahead of time that Jesus was gonna be born there.” Dunkum sat down beside Eric on the floor.

“What else?” Eric said.

“Jesus was God's son—but he was also a man. That's a good mystery for you,” said Dunkum.

“Yeah,” said Eric. “You're right.”

“That's not all,” said Dunkum. “The first Christmas was about presents—the best one of all. A baby boy named Jesus.”

“Sounds like you really got this stuff down,” Eric said.

“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.