The Fifth-Grade Lockdown
A Psychological Thriller
Chapter 1: Room #114 A
The fluorescent lights of Room #114 A buzzed with the same monotonous hum they always did at precisely 1:15 PM. Ms. Gaby Pruneda, known affectionately (or sometimes fearfully) as Ms. G, tapped her red pen against the stack of end-of-year assessments that needed grading before the final bell. Twenty minutes remained in the school day—twenty minutes that felt like twenty hours when you were responsible for the most unique dyslexia intervention class Oakwood Elementary had ever assembled.
Humans are so predictable with their arbitrary measurements of time, thought Lola, the calico cat lounging on the windowsill. Look at them scurrying about like mice, except mice have the decency to be quiet. The four-year-old feline adjusted her position, her tail flicking with irritation as she observed the classroom. As the self-appointed omniscient narrator of Room #114 A, Lola found the entire educational enterprise exhausting. She tolerated it only because Ms. G provided premium cat food and gentle behind-the-ear scratches that hit just the right spot.
"Nathaniel, please stop grinding your teeth," Ms. G said without looking up from her papers. "I can hear you from across the room."
Nathaniel Winters, a lanky boy with wire-rimmed glasses and a perpetual scowl, continued the nerve-jostling sound. His teeth grinding was like nails on a chalkboard—if the nails were made of titanium and the chalkboard was wired to everyone's central nervous system.
That one, Lola's amber eyes narrowed, is definitely the villain in this little human drama. No creature with any sense makes such an abominable sound on purpose.
Across the room, Anya Martinez was trying desperately to focus on her reading passage. The words swam before her eyes, letters rearranging themselves like rebellious soldiers refusing to stay in formation. As her anxiety mounted, she felt the familiar tightness in her throat—the prelude to what her classmates had come to expect.
"The paaaaaaages swim before my EYYYYYYES!" Anya suddenly belted out in a perfect soprano that would make Maria Callas proud. Her impromptu aria continued, "Letters DAAAAAAANCING, won't stay STIIIIIIIILL!"
The class didn't even flinch. Anya's operatic outbursts were as much a part of Room #114 A as the alphabet posters on the wall.
At least that one has talent, Lola mused, her whiskers twitching with what might have been approval. Unlike the grey shadow who calls himself a cat.
Pulguita, the svelte grey cat, was hiding beneath Ms. G's desk, his green eyes wide with perpetual anxiety. At two years old, he still hadn't figured out that Lola's threats were mostly bluster. Mostly.
"Ms. G," whispered Kenneth so softly that even dust particles didn't stir, "can I... um... I think I..." His voice trailed off into nothingness.
"What did I just say?" Kenneth asked himself, genuinely confused by his own inaudible question.
"Speak up, Kenneth," encouraged Ms. G, "We can't hear you."
"THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING!" Kenneth whispered forcefully, which meant it was just barely audible to human ears.
The quiet one will survive the apocalypse, Lola observed. Predators can't hunt what they can't hear. Unlike that third feline abomination who's currently trying to catch her own shadow.
Luna, the three-toed wonder, was indeed spinning in circles near the bookshelf, chasing what appeared to be nothing at all. Her extra toes on each front paw made a distinctive pattering sound as she moved, like someone playing an uncoordinated rhythm on a tiny bongo drum.
"Three eggs short of a dozen," Ms. G often said about Luna with affectionate exasperation. The cat had once spent two hours staring at a wall, apparently entranced by the fascinating beige paint.
Dhenim Johnson, whose parents had indeed named him after the fabric (but with a unique spelling because "he was destined for greatness"), was tossing a miniature football in the air and catching it with one hand while completing his reading exercise with the other.
"Ms. G," he said, his voice already carrying the confidence of the professional athlete he was destined to become, "when I play in the Super Bowl next year, I'm gonna need you sitting right behind our bench. The Raiders already said it's cool."
"That's very thoughtful, Dhenim," Ms. G replied, not bothering to explain the improbability of a fifth-grader being drafted into the NFL. Some dreams you just let flourish. "But first, you need to finish your assessment."
"Already done," he grinned, flipping his paper over to reveal completed work. "Anna and I have been practicing our halftime show too. Beyoncé's gonna be jealous."
Anna Rodriguez rolled her eyes so dramatically that they threatened to escape her skull altogether. "I am NOT performing 'Single Ladies' at your imaginary Super Bowl, Dhenim. I have standards."
"You just don't want to admit you can't dance," Dhenim teased.
Anna straightened her perfectly pressed collar. "I am allergic to immaturity and drama. I'm single, ready to mingle with people who have actual goals in life, not fantasies about football careers and Kardashian-level nonsense."
The self-important one speaks truth, even if her delivery is insufferable, Lola thought, stretching her paws forward in a languid motion. Humans waste so much time on nonsense when they could be napping in sunbeams.
In the corner, Kenzie Williams was surreptitiously feeding a baby hamster she'd rescued that morning from the school playground. The hamster joined the menagerie she kept in various pockets—a small turtle in her left jacket pocket, a baby bird nestled in a handkerchief in her right, and rumors of a frog somewhere in her backpack.
"Kenzie, your backpack just croaked," Luke Peterson pointed out without looking up from his paper. His handwriting was immaculate, each letter formed with surgical precision despite the cast on his right hand—or as he called it, his "paw."
"It's just hungry," Kenzie whispered, slipping a crumb into her bag. "The FAA will need experienced animal handlers when I join in middle school."
"The FAA is the Federal Aviation Administration," corrected Aleena Patel from the front row. "You mean the FFA—Future Farmers of America."
"Actually," her identical twin Alisha chimed in, "it's now called the National FFA Organization. They changed it in 1988 to reflect the evolution of agricultural education."
The twins exchanged a knowing look, their matching braids swinging in perfect synchronization. They had made it their mission to mentor their classmates in both academic precision and life organization.
"If you all had your ducks in a row like we do," Aleena began.
"You wouldn't waste time on ridiculous nonsense," Alisha finished.
The clone humans speak as one but think they're individuals, Lola observed with feline disdain. At least they're efficient.
Ms. G glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes left to finish grading these assessments. She could do this. Just another normal day in Room #114 A, with opera outbursts, NFL draft picks, and enough rescued wildlife to stock a small zoo.
That's when the lights went out.
Chapter 2: Darkness Falls
The classroom plunged into sudden darkness, save for the grey afternoon light filtering through the windows. Before anyone could react, the school's PA system crackled to life.
"Attention all staff and students. This is not a drill. We are initiating lockdown procedures. I repeat, this is not a drill."
The principal's voice, usually warm and jovial, was clipped and tense. The message ended with an ominous click.
Finally, something interesting happens in this educational prison, Lola thought, her pupils dilating to adjust to the darkness. Though I suspect it's just another human overreaction. Probably a squirrel on the power line.
Ms. G immediately sprang into action, her teacher training kicking in. "Everyone away from the windows. Move to our designated corner, quickly and quietly."
The students, well-drilled in lockdown procedures, began moving—all except Nathaniel, who remained seated, the sound of his grinding teeth now eerily loud in the quiet classroom.
"Nathaniel," Ms. G whispered urgently, "come join us. Now."
He turned slowly, and in the dim light, his smile seemed unnaturally wide. "But Ms. G, I like it better here."
A chill ran down Ms. G's spine. Something about his tone was... off.
The teeth-grinder shows his true colors, Lola observed, leaping silently from the windowsill to a higher bookshelf for a better vantage point. I've always said predators come in all sizes.
Anya's breathing quickened, her anxiety mounting in the darkness. Everyone tensed, waiting for the inevitable operatic outburst, but instead, she began humming softly—a haunting melody that somehow made the darkness feel even more oppressive.
"What's happening?" Kenneth whispered, for once actually audible in the silent room.
"Probably just a drill they forgot to tell us about," Anna said pragmatically, though her voice lacked its usual confidence.
"Or a dangerous criminal has infiltrated the school and is hunting us one by one," Dhenim suggested with inappropriate enthusiasm.
"Not helping," the twins said in unison.
Luke continued writing in the dark, his pencil moving across paper he couldn't possibly see. "I need to finish this. My handwriting must remain perfect, broken paw or not."
"Luke, please join us," Ms. G insisted, her teacher voice brooking no argument.
Pulguita had disappeared entirely, his grey fur making him invisible in the shadows. Luna, surprisingly, had stopped her manic movements and was sitting perfectly still, her extra-toed paws tucked neatly beneath her as she stared intently at the classroom door.
The broken one is still writing, the quiet one is suddenly audible, and the dim-witted one is showing unusual focus, Lola noted. Crisis reveals true character, as they say. Though I suspect this 'crisis' is merely human incompetence at work.
Ms. G did a quick head count as the students huddled in the corner. "Where's Kenzie?"
A rustling came from near the hamster habitat. "Just making sure the animals are safe," Kenzie's voice floated through the darkness. "They're scared."
"They're not the only ones," Kenneth murmured, his voice cracking.
Nathaniel still hadn't moved from his desk. His teeth grinding had stopped, replaced by a soft, rhythmic tapping of his pencil.
"Nathaniel, I won't ask again," Ms. G said, her voice firm despite her growing unease.
"Did you know," Nathaniel said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather, "that the human bite is actually quite powerful? We just don't usually use our full strength."
The classroom temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
Now we're getting somewhere, Lola thought, her tail swishing with interest. The villain reveals himself. Predictable, but entertaining nonetheless.
"That's fascinating, Nathaniel," Ms. G said carefully. "Why don't you come share more interesting facts with us over here?"
Nathaniel stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor with a sound that made everyone wince. He took one step toward the group, then stopped as a new sound became audible—footsteps in the hallway, heavy and deliberate.
Everyone froze. The footsteps paused outside their classroom door. The handle jiggled once, twice.
Anya's humming crescendoed slightly, then cut off abruptly as Anna placed a gentle hand over her mouth. Dhenim, for once, looked serious, positioning himself slightly in front of the others. The twins clutched each other's hands, their usual composure cracking. Luke had finally stopped writing, his pencil poised mid-letter.
The door handle turned.
Humans and their dramatic moments, Lola sighed internally. Though I must admit, even I'm curious about this particular plot development.
Chapter 3: Shadows and Whispers
The door opened with an agonizing creak. A beam of flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping across the classroom.
"Ms. Pruneda?" called a familiar voice. "Is everyone okay in here?"
It was Mr. Vasquez, the school custodian. Collective relief washed over the room—except from Nathaniel, who seemed almost disappointed.
"We're fine, Mr. Vasquez," Ms. G replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "What's happening?"
"Power outage in the whole neighborhood. Some idiot drove into a transformer down the street. Principal called the lockdown because the security systems are down." He shook his head. "They're sending everyone home early once the police give the all-clear for dismissal."
A vehicular collision with electrical infrastructure. How anticlimactic, Lola observed, her tail flicking with disappointment. Humans have a remarkable talent for creating drama from mundane circumstances.
"Thank you for checking on us," Ms. G said. "We'll stay put until we get the all-clear."
Mr. Vasquez nodded and continued down the hall to the next classroom, his flashlight beam receding with him.
The students began to relax, the tension draining from their bodies—all except Nathaniel, who remained standing in the middle of the classroom, a strange silhouette against the grey light from the windows.
"Nathaniel, please join us now," Ms. G said, her patience wearing thin.
"But the fun was just beginning," he replied, his voice carrying an edge that made everyone uncomfortable.
Dhenim stood up. "Dude, stop being weird and get over here."
Nathaniel turned toward him, his face half-illuminated by the dim light. "Make me, football star."
The confrontation escalates, Lola noted with interest. The athlete versus the grinder. My money's on the athlete, but never underestimate the unhinged.
Before Dhenim could respond, a new sound emerged from the darkness—a soft, melodic humming. It wasn't Anya this time; she looked as confused as everyone else. The humming grew louder, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"What is that?" Anna whispered, her usual composure slipping.
"It's coming from the vents," Aleena suggested.
"No, it's from outside," Alisha countered.
Kenneth, barely audible as usual, murmured, "It sounds like... singing."
The humming coalesced into a haunting melody, the words indistinguishable but the emotion behind them unmistakable—a lament, a warning.
Luna suddenly arched her back, her fur standing on end as she stared at something no one else could see. Pulguita emerged from his hiding place, moving to stand beside Ms. G, pressing against her leg as if seeking protection.
Something is wrong, Lola thought, her usual sarcasm giving way to genuine concern. Even the dim-witted one senses it.
"Everyone stay calm," Ms. G said, though her own heart was racing. "It's probably just the wind in the pipes."
"Wind doesn't sing words, Ms. G," Kenzie whispered, clutching her pocket menagerie closer.
The singing grew louder, and now they could make out phrases—"beware the grinder," "darkness hides," "teeth that bite"—repeated in a childlike singsong that was somehow more terrifying than any scream could be.
All eyes turned to Nathaniel, who stood perfectly still, a smile spreading across his face.
"What did you do?" Anna demanded, her voice shaking despite her attempt at bravado.
Nathaniel's smile widened. "I didn't do anything. Yet."
The singing abruptly stopped, plunging the room into silence so complete they could hear each other's rapid breathing. Then, a scratching sound began—soft at first, then more insistent. It seemed to be coming from inside the walls.
This school is older than it looks, Lola realized, her ears swiveling to track the sound. Old buildings hold secrets, and sometimes those secrets have teeth.
"Ms. G," Luke said, his voice unusually strained, "I can't finish my writing. The paper... it's changing."
He held up his assessment, and even in the dim light, they could see that the neat rows of his perfect handwriting were now distorted, the letters rearranging themselves into new words: "THE GRINDER WAKES THE SLEEPER."
"That's not possible," Ms. G whispered, taking the paper from Luke's trembling hand.
"Many things are possible in Room #114 A," Nathaniel said, his voice taking on a singsong quality that echoed the mysterious voice from before. "Especially when the lights go out."
The scratching in the walls grew louder, more frantic, as if something was trying to claw its way out.
Or in, Lola thought grimly.
Chapter 4: The Grinder
The scratching stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The silence that followed was somehow worse—expectant, like the pause between lightning and thunder.
"Nathaniel," Ms. G said, her teacher voice firmly in place despite her fear, "what is going on?"
Before he could answer, the classroom door slammed shut with a bang that made everyone jump. The handle turned uselessly when Dhenim rushed to try it.
"It's locked," he reported, his usual confidence faltering.
"That's impossible," Ms. G said. "These doors don't lock from the outside."
"Impossible is just another word for 'I don't understand yet,'" Nathaniel replied, still standing apart from the group. He began grinding his teeth again, the sound amplified in the silent classroom.
The villain reveals his hand, Lola observed, moving silently along the bookshelf to position herself above Nathaniel. Though I suspect there's more to this story than a teeth-grinding menace.
"Stop that!" Anya suddenly shouted, her operatic tendencies giving way to genuine anger. "You're scaring everyone on purpose!"
Nathaniel's grinding paused. "Am I? Or am I just the only one who sees what's really happening in this school? In this room?"
"And what exactly is happening?" Anna challenged, though she stayed safely within the group.
"Evolution," Nathaniel said simply. "Change. The words... they've always moved for us, haven't they? Letters dancing, refusing to stay still. Everyone thought it was a problem. A disability." He spat the word. "But what if it's a gift? What if we're the only ones who can see that reality itself is... flexible?"
The twins exchanged worried glances. "That doesn't make any sense," Aleena began.
"It's pseudoscientific nonsense," Alisha finished.
"Is it?" Nathaniel walked to the chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk. In the dim light, they watched as he wrote a single word: GRINDER.
The chalk seemed to move of its own accord, the letters rearranging themselves before their eyes: REWIND.
Curious, Lola thought, her tail twitching with interest. The boy may be unhinged, but something unusual is certainly occurring.
"What does that mean?" Kenneth asked, his voice actually carrying across the room for once.
"It means," Nathaniel said, turning back to face them, "that I've figured out how to control it. How to make the words—and the world—do what I want."
As if to demonstrate, he began grinding his teeth again, the sound building to an unbearable crescendo. The chalk dust from the board began to swirl, forming patterns in the air that shouldn't have been possible.
"Stop it!" Kenzie cried, her animals squirming in distress within their various hiding places.
Nathaniel only ground his teeth harder. The windows began to rattle, the books on the shelves trembling as if in an earthquake.
This has gone far enough, Lola decided. With feline precision, she launched herself from the bookshelf directly onto Nathaniel's shoulders.
Nathaniel screamed, more in surprise than pain, as Lola's claws dug into his shirt. The grinding stopped abruptly as he tried to dislodge the determined calico.
I may tolerate humans for their opposable thumbs and ability to operate can openers, Lola thought as she held on, but I draw the line at supernatural disturbances during my scheduled nap time.
The moment Nathaniel's grinding ceased, the strange phenomena stopped—the windows stilled, the books settled, and the swirling chalk dust fell harmlessly to the floor.
"Get this crazy cat off me!" Nathaniel shouted, spinning in circles.
Ms. G stepped forward. "Lola, that's enough."
Lola gave Nathaniel one final warning swipe before leaping gracefully to Ms. G's shoulder, where she perched like a furry gargoyle, her amber eyes fixed on the boy.
You're welcome, she seemed to say with her imperious stare.
"What was that?" Dhenim demanded, moving to stand beside Ms. G. "What were you trying to do?"
Nathaniel straightened his shirt, his earlier confidence diminished but not gone. "I told you. I've learned to control it. The dyslexia—it's not a disability. It's a doorway."
"A doorway to what?" Luke asked, still clutching his distorted paper.
"To the spaces between words. Between realities." Nathaniel's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "There's something in the walls of this school. Something old. It speaks to me when I grind my teeth—the vibrations, they're like a key in a lock. It showed me things, taught me things."
"That's ridiculous," Anna scoffed, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Is it?" Nathaniel challenged. "Haven't you all felt it? The weird things that happen in this room? Anya's sudden ability to sing opera when she never had lessons? Dhenim's impossible athletic skills? Kenneth's voice that no one can hear unless he wants them to? Luke's perfect handwriting despite his broken hand?"
The students exchanged uneasy glances, each recognizing the truth in his words.
The boy speaks some truth, Lola acknowledged. This room has always had a certain... energy.
"What about the twins?" Ms. G asked, playing along while trying to figure out how to defuse the situation.
"They're not even twins," Nathaniel said dismissively. "They just showed up one day looking identical, and everyone accepted it. Ask them."
All eyes turned to Aleena and Alisha, who had gone very pale.
"That's absurd," Aleena said, but her voice wavered.
"We've been twins our whole lives," Alisha added, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.
"Have you?" Nathaniel pressed. "Or did you just both wish so hard for a perfect study partner that the thing in the walls gave you what you wanted?"
The twins' silence was answer enough.
Curiouser and curiouser, Lola thought. Perhaps there's more to this educational establishment than meets the eye.
"What is this 'thing in the walls'?" Ms. G asked, keeping her voice calm and reasonable.
"It calls itself the Sleeper," Nathaniel replied. "It's been here since before the school was built. It feeds on potential—on the energy of young minds learning and changing. Dyslexic minds are like... gourmet meals to it. All that extra effort, all those neural pathways forming and reforming as we try to make sense of words."
"And what does it want?" Ms. G's hand moved protectively to Lola's fur.
Nathaniel's smile returned, unsettling in its intensity. "To wake up. Fully. And I'm going to help it."
Chapter 5: The Awakening
"Why would you want to wake something that feeds on children's minds?" Anna demanded, her fear giving way to indignation.
"Because it gives gifts in return," Nathaniel replied. "Haven't you been listening? All our special abilities—they're from the Sleeper. And that's just what it can do while mostly dormant. Imagine what it could offer if fully awake."
"Or imagine what it could take," Ms. G countered. "Nathaniel, whatever you think this entity is, whatever it's promised you, it's not worth endangering everyone."
The human speaks sense for once, Lola thought approvingly. Entities that hide in walls and whisper to children rarely have benevolent intentions.
Nathaniel's expression hardened. "You don't understand. None of you do. I was nothing before the Sleeper spoke to me. Just the weird kid with the grinding problem who couldn't read right. Now I can reshape reality just by thinking about it."
"And what happens to the rest of us when your Sleeper wakes up?" Dhenim asked, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"You'll be fine," Nathaniel said dismissively. "Probably. The Sleeper just needs one final push—one perfect moment of dyslexic energy to fully manifest."
"The end-of-year assessments," Ms. G realized with horror. "That's why you've been acting strange all day. You were planning this."
Nathaniel clapped slowly, mockingly. "Very good, Ms. G. All of us, struggling with those tests at once—it's like a feast for the Sleeper. And when the power went out? Perfect timing. Darkness makes it stronger."
As if responding to his words, the scratching in the walls resumed, more insistent than before. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably, their breath beginning to fog in the air.
This is getting out of hand, Lola observed, her fur standing on end. The boy has clearly made a pact with forces beyond his comprehension. Typical human shortsightedness.
Luna suddenly yowled, a sound so full of distress that everyone jumped. The three-toed cat was staring at a section of wall where the scratching was loudest, her usual vacant expression replaced by focused terror.
"What do we do?" Kenneth whispered, actually audible in his fear.
Ms. G thought quickly. "If the Sleeper feeds on dyslexic energy—on the struggle with words—then maybe the solution is to stop struggling."
"What do you mean?" Anya asked, her voice trembling on the edge of an operatic outburst.
"I mean," Ms. G said, "that dyslexia isn't about not being able to read. It's about your brains processing language differently. What if, instead of fighting that difference, we embraced it? What if we read in a way that feels natural to you, not the way everyone else does?"
The scratching paused, as if the thing in the walls was listening.
"That won't work," Nathaniel said, but uncertainty had crept into his voice.
"It might," Luke said suddenly. "When I write, I don't see the letters the way others do. I see... patterns. Shapes. That's why my handwriting is perfect—I'm not writing letters, I'm drawing patterns that I know mean something."
"Yes!" Kenzie exclaimed. "And when I read about animals, the words don't jump around because I'm not seeing words—I'm seeing the animals themselves."
One by one, the students began to understand—each had developed their own way of processing language, their own relationship with words that bypassed the traditional struggles of dyslexia.
Clever humans, Lola thought with reluctant admiration. Using their differences as strength rather than weakness.
"No!" Nathaniel shouted, his face contorted with anger. "You don't understand what you're giving up! The Sleeper can give us real power!"
"We already have power," Anya said, and then, instead of an anxious operatic outburst, she began to sing deliberately—a clear, beautiful melody that somehow made the words on the assessment papers before them glow faintly in the dim light.
The twins joined in, their voices harmonizing perfectly as they sang about patterns and order. Dhenim added a rhythm, tapping out a beat that seemed to stabilize the shaking walls. Kenneth's whisper-voice somehow carried beneath it all, providing a foundation that everyone could feel more than hear.
Luke began to write again, his perfect letters flowing across the page, but now they stayed where he put them, no longer rearranging into ominous messages. Kenzie released her menagerie of small animals, who formed a circle around the singing students, adding their own small sounds to the growing harmony.
A counterattack through harmony, Lola observed. Unconventional but effective.
The scratching in the walls became erratic, as if the entity behind it was confused or distressed. Nathaniel's teeth grinding grew more desperate, but it no longer seemed to have the same effect—the chalk dust remained inert, the windows still.
"Stop it!" he shouted over the singing. "You're ruining everything!"
Ms. G approached him slowly, her hands outstretched. "Nathaniel, it's okay. You can join us. You don't need the Sleeper to be special."
For a moment, conflict played across his face—the desire for power warring with the longing to belong. Then his expression hardened.
"You'll regret this," he said, and began grinding his teeth with renewed vigor, the sound cutting through the harmony like a saw through wood.
The wall where Luna had been staring began to bulge inward, the plaster cracking to reveal something shifting behind it—something that seemed composed of both shadow and text, letters and darkness intertwining in impossible ways.
Enough of this nonsense, Lola decided. With feline determination, she leaped from Ms. G's shoulder directly at Nathaniel once more, but this time Pulguita and Luna joined her—three cats moving as one to tackle the boy.
Nathaniel went down under the feline assault, his grinding cut off mid-gnash. The bulging wall froze, the entity behind it caught between manifestation and retreat.
"Now!" Ms. G shouted to her students. "Read together—read the way that makes sense to YOU!"
The students grabbed their assessments and began reading aloud—each in their own way, some seeing patterns, some visualizing the content, some feeling the rhythm of the words. Their voices created a tapestry of sound, a celebration of the many ways language could be processed and understood.
The bulge in the wall began to recede, the cracks sealing themselves as if time was running backward. The scratching faded, growing fainter and fainter until it disappeared entirely.
Nathaniel lay on the floor, three determined cats pinning him down, the fight gone out of him as he watched his plans literally dissolve back into the walls.
Crisis averted, Lola thought with satisfaction. Though I expect extra treats for this heroic intervention.
Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, flooding the classroom with fluorescent brightness. The PA system crackled to life once more.
"Attention all staff and students. The power has been restored and the lockdown is now lifted. Please proceed with normal dismissal procedures. Thank you for your cooperation."
The ordinary announcement seemed surreal after what they had just experienced. The students looked at each other, then at the now-normal walls, then at Nathaniel still pinned beneath three vigilant cats.
"Is it over?" Anna asked, her usual composure slowly returning.
"I think so," Ms. G said, helping Nathaniel to his feet as the cats reluctantly released him. "Are you okay, Nathaniel?"
He nodded slowly, not meeting anyone's eyes. "It's gone quiet," he said, tapping his temple. "The Sleeper... it's retreated. I can't hear it anymore."
"Good," Ms. G said firmly. "Some voices aren't worth listening to, no matter what they promise."
Wise words from the human, Lola thought, grooming her paw nonchalantly as if she hadn't just helped save the school from an eldritch entity. Perhaps she's not entirely hopeless after all.
Chapter 6: Lessons Learned
The next day, Room #114 A looked exactly as it always had—alphabet posters on the walls, books neatly arranged on shelves, Ms. G's desk organized with military precision. If not for the shared looks between the students as they entered, one might think the previous day's events had been nothing but a collective hallucination.
Humans are remarkably adaptable, Lola observed from her windowsill perch. Nearly consumed by an entity from between realities, and here they are the next day, ready to learn about fractions.
Pulguita had claimed a spot under Ms. G's desk as usual, though he seemed to be watching Nathaniel with unusual attentiveness. Luna was batting at dust motes in a sunbeam, her extra toes giving her paws an endearing mittened appearance, her brush with the supernatural apparently forgotten.
Nathaniel was the last to arrive, slipping into the classroom with his head down. The other students watched him warily as he took his seat, but there was no sound of teeth grinding, no ominous messages rearranging themselves on papers.
"Good morning, everyone," Ms. G said brightly, as if yesterday had been a perfectly normal day. "Before we begin, I want to talk about yesterday's... events."
The classroom grew very quiet.
"What happened was unusual, to say the least," she continued. "But I think there's an important lesson in it for all of us."
"Don't wake ancient entities that live in school walls?" Dhenim suggested.
"Don't trust anyone who grinds their teeth constantly?" Anna added.
"Always have cats around in case of supernatural emergency?" Kenzie offered, glancing appreciatively at the three felines.
At least one human understands the true moral of the story, Lola thought smugly.
"All good points," Ms. G acknowledged with a smile. "But what I was thinking is this: what made the difference yesterday wasn't fighting against the entity—it was embracing your unique ways of processing language. It was turning what some might call a weakness into a strength."
The students considered this, several nodding in understanding.
"Dyslexia isn't a disability—it's a different way of seeing the world," Ms. G continued. "Each of you has developed your own relationship with words, your own way of making meaning. That's not something
to be feared or fixed—it's something to be understood and harnessed."
Nathaniel looked up, meeting Ms. G's eyes for the first time. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "The Sleeper... it made me feel powerful when I've always felt weak. It told me what I wanted to hear."
"That's what manipulative entities do," Ms. G said gently. "But real power comes from within, not from making deals with supernatural forces."
A lesson many humans could benefit from, Lola thought, pausing her grooming to observe the conversation. Though I maintain that opposable thumbs and access to tuna cans are the true source of power.
"So what happens now?" Luke asked, his perfect handwriting filling a page of notes. "Do we just... pretend none of it happened?"
"No," Ms. G said firmly. "We learn from it. Starting today, we're going to approach our reading and writing differently. Instead of forcing everyone to process language the same way, we're going to explore different methods that work for each of you."
The twins raised their hands simultaneously.
"Does this mean—" Aleena began.
"—we can work together on assignments?" Alisha finished.
"Within reason," Ms. G nodded. "Your connection is unusual, but it's also a strength we can build on."
Kenneth whispered something that, remarkably, everyone could hear clearly: "What about the Sleeper? Is it really gone?"
All eyes turned to Nathaniel, who shrugged uncomfortably. "I think it's just... sleeping again. But deeper now. The harmony you all created—it was like a lullaby to it."
Not gone, then, Lola noted, her tail twitching thoughtfully. Merely dormant. How inconveniently typical of eldritch horrors. "I'll be keeping a closer eye on this room," Ms. G said, glancing at the walls with newfound wariness. "And on all of you. If anyone starts hearing voices or feeling unusual urges to wake ancient entities, we talk about it immediately. No exceptions."
The students nodded in agreement, even Nathaniel.
"Now," Ms. G continued, pulling out a stack of papers, "about those assessments we never finished..."
A collective groan filled the room.
Humans, Lola thought with amusement. They'll face down interdimensional horrors without hesitation, but suggest a spelling test and suddenly they're overcome with dread.
Luna stretched lazily in her sunbeam, her extra toes splayed wide. Pulguita emerged from under the desk to wind between the students' legs, offering silent feline support for the academic challenge ahead.
As the students settled into their work, the classroom felt different somehow—not just because they had faced something extraordinary together, but because they now understood that their differences weren't weaknesses to overcome, but unique strengths to embrace.
Perhaps, Lola mused, watching the students work with newfound confidence, there are worse places to spend one's nine lives than guarding a room full of dyslexic children against the forces of chaos. The entertainment value alone is worth the effort.
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