My Kindergarten Horror Story

The Original Title is "The Castle Pact"

     As a kindergartener, life tends to be full of excitement and adventure. Unfortunately, it is also filled with hundreds of mistakes. Normally, it ended up okay in the end. However, there were times when I was certain disaster was imminent. One of those times was when a toy castle broke.

      In the mornings, I usually played with the giant rice table or the Mr. and Mrs. Potato Heads. On occasion, however, I delved into the depths of the fantasy kingdoms with the boys. Tales of knights and princes and soldiers fighting against other countries or to take back their homes appealed to me, but I didn't always like how rough the boys played with the castle or the toys. With all the certainty my young mind could conjure, I believed they were going to end up snapping the heads off of the action figures like I had broken the head of my Barbie doll a few months prior. Unlike them, I knew toys were not the same after they ripped apart. My teacher knew all about broken toys too.

     On the first day, she had warned us against playing rough with the toys, especially when we used the castle. The action figures and the plastic castle actually belonged to the teacher across the hall, which filled my tiny self with dread and a sense of fearful apprehension. During class, we heard her yelling at students in her room. We weren't sure what was going on or why, but we had to stop class sometimes because her screeches drowned out our teacher's voice. In all honesty, the tone alone made me terrified of anything breaking.

     Of course, the day after we heard one of the worst bouts of screeching, a few days after she broke her foot, the day I had seen her face for the first time, it happened. One of the boys popped a tiny brown door on the top of the castle out of its socket. We should have been chattering about Halloween costumes or what we wanted for Christmas, but instead, the boys and I stared at the door in horror. If we told the teacher, we would never be allowed to play with the castle again. Worse still, in frightened whispers, they asked me if I could fix it. I told them I didn't know if I could. They pleaded for me to try. Though I was as shocked as the rest of them all, I did try.

     After all, they hadn't asked me to fix it without their reasons. The door had stubs on either side like the Mr. Potato Heads and it could squish into the hinges on the castle like the plastic ears and eyes could be shoved into the potato body. One of them had pushed it out of the hinges. It could be popped back in. At least, until I noticed the end of one of the nubs. Horror rippled through me when I saw it had bent out of shape. Somehow or another, one of us managed to bend it back in place and I put it in, where the door flexed back and forth normally.

     Out of relief, we sighed. The tension in the air dissipated in waves. Some of us nervously laughed. Silently, we all made the promise to keep it a secret. In hushed murmurs, we made a pact to never rat each other out. No matter what, we would never let anyone end up in trouble because of what happened. It was okay, the castle was fixed, and we were all confident it would never be noticed. Boy, were we wrong.

     Two days later, the entire class wasn't allowed to play before the bell rang. We were told to sit down in our seats. According to the teacher who yelled, one of us had broken the castle. My mind swirled with confusion. Surprise and terror curled up my spine. How did she know? The door fit back in perfectly! Had someone told her?

     Regardless of our questions, none of us looked at each other directly. Not a single one of us spoke up. All of us had heard the horror film across the hall. Almost as if we had a telepathic link, the entire class decided to protect each other. No one would suffer through being yelled at alone, we decided. It didn't matter who had argued with who seconds before. In the moment of silence before the war, we forged our alliance.

     Then, the battle broke out. She spewed words of disgust and loathing. It was clear she was not fond of small children. My little mind didn't know half of the more intelligent words. Most of us were five, after all. However, I understood she was disappointed in all of us and, according to her, we should have been ashamed of ourselves. I wrapped my head around the threat of bringing the principal down if no one confessed and how ungrateful we were. We would never be allowed to play with her toys again unless someone confessed, she claimed. None of us believed her, and, even if we had, we always kept our promises. If anyone said anything against anyone, they would never be trusted by the class again. Despite how harsh the words she shouted seemed, the negative portrayal of tattletales was drilled in our souls.

     Unfortunately, hearing the words from across the hall could never compare to the headache it was hearing them up close. We had to escape the dungeon she had conjured out of our safe haven for the sake of our ears. Lying to the teacher from across the hall became our new kingdom to conquer. Our neighboring class's room became her cave and she turned into the dragon who lived there. The tension in the air became the smoke of her breath.

     Then, the selection began. Her glare slithered around the tables and her words hissed through our ears as if she was ready to send flames toward anyone who blinked. A couple people were chosen, and, luckily, neither of them had been around the castle. Afterward, her eyes snaked over me. In order to ease the fear swirling through my veins faster than my heart could beat, I rolled the corner of a paper at my desk.

     When it made the slightest crinkle, she whirled back around to me and breathed fire yet again. Was it my paper? Why would I damage it if it didn't belong to me? How ungrateful could I possibly be? She asked more, but I was too scared to process it, let alone remember it. I had never been yelled at by a teacher over anything before. On top of it, I was one of the students with outstanding behavior. Not a scratch graced my record.

     However, I was in the wrong when it came to the castle. Others had their alibis and excuses, but I was the knight of the castle who had to face the dragon. Once I was thoroughly terrified, she asked me who had done it. Armed with nothing but my squeaky clean reputation and quick mind, as a kindergartner, I lied to a teacher to her face to protect my class from her further wrath. In an act of either bravery or stupidity, I claimed we would have told our teacher if we knew something had broken. She bought it. At least, she believed I had too much faith in my classmates and she had tormented us enough.

     Whether it was out of mercy or boredom, she decided to leave. My hands still shook from where I had them clasped. One of my table partners quietly asked if I was okay. I managed to nod. The nightmare was finally over. We survived. Most importantly, no one ended up in trouble and we never spoke about it again