Free Brass Monkeys by Terry Caszatt

disappear into the falling snow made me more depressed than I’ve ever been in my life. I knew Mom would still be at work at the salon, so rather than call her and have to explain the whole disaster, I shouldered my backpack, grabbed my trumpet case, and started down the snowy road. To really put me in the pits, the wind began to pick up and I walked head-on into the blowing snow. In a way that was good, because no one could tell I was bawling my guts out.
    When I finally got to the house and staggered inside, I found a message from Mom on the answering machine. In her chipper voice she told me she was going Christmas shopping with Doris right after work and wouldn’t be home until seven, and that could I find something to eat? Then she added, “Hope you had just the best, most amazing day at school, honey.”
    “Yes, Mom,” I said to the empty kitchen, “it was amazing all right.”
    I looked in the fridge for something to eat, but didn’t see anything I wanted. I wandered into the living room, plopped down on the sofa and thought about dying. How was I ever going to tell Mom that my new school was a nut house and my first day a total disaster? I stayed on the sofa for a long time moaning and making a fuss, but it didn’t seem to help. Finally, I got up and put on my
Spanish Nights
CD. After about the third time through “Malagueña” I felt better, and for a moment I stopped thinking about the cowardly thing I had done to Harriet.
    I decided to listen to the music again, but as I got up to hit the play button, I happened to glance outside and saw something coming along the road. I moved closer to the window and peered out. It was nearly dark, and with the wind whipping snow around, the yard was a blur. Then something—it looked like a human figure—floated phantomlike down the driveway toward the garage.
    I ran quickly to the kitchen and peered out the small window over the sink. A cloud of white obscured everything. I reached over and snapped on the outside yard light. Just then the snow cleared and I had a brief glimpse of a bicycle disappearing through the big door of the garage.
An orange bicycle
. Then the door came down. Funny Frank was back and this time he was in our garage.
    “Frank, you big clunk,” I said. “You’re really getting on my nerves.” I felt a flood of anger. As if I didn’t have enough trouble, now the town crackpot was back. “It’s time you and I had a little chat.”
    I grabbed my coat and started for the back door. I considered turning the outside light off, but then I thought about how spooky it would be, so I left it on.
    I eased out the back door and hurried over to the garage wall where I flattened out next to the side door. At that moment something crashed to the floor inside the garage and like the air rushing out of a flabby balloon, my boldness left me.
    “Easy, old son,” I muttered, falling into the war-movie talk I use to get my nerve up. “Hold your fire and don’t panic.” Maybe I didn’t need to
chat
with Frank after all. Maybe all I needed to do was open the door and yell at him to go home and play Chinese Checkers with his dog, or whatever.
    I reached for the doorknob, but just as I did I heard something out in the darkness. I snapped around and squinted into the blowing snow. At first I saw nothing but the dim field and a dark fringe of pines at the far edge. Then, with a jolt, I saw some figures emerge from the trees and start across the field.
    My eyes widened. They were coming straight toward me and moving in a strange, awkward lope. I thought I could hear the faint jingling of bells. With my neck prickling with fear, I had totally forgotten about Funny Frank.
    The next thing I knew, a hand was clamped over my mouth and I was being dragged backward into the garage.
    Funny Frank may have looked old and helpless, but he was strong as an ox. I struggled wildly as he kicked the door closed. At one point I got his hand partly off my mouth and burst out