Issue 03-08 Episode 05

This part of the story continues on that day at school, when Ichabode blurted out his daydream to his teacher, a younger Ms. Voluspa.
“I stood atop a great pyramid,” he had proclaimed, his voice echoing off the walls like the distant call of a dreamer reaching for the stars. “Everyone could hear me!”
The words had barely escaped his lips when Ms. Voluspa, fresh-faced yet strangely ominous, erupted into an evil laughter that rippled through the room. The other children soon joined in, their giggles morphing into an uproarious chorus that filled Ichabode with despair—an overwhelming tide of mockery that swallowed him whole.
Then, as if the universe conspired against him, a sharp jolt shot through his body, like lightning sparking life into a statue. He fell to the floor, limbs thrashing uncontrollably, the laughter morphing into panicked screams. His vision blurred, and froth bubbled at the corners of his mouth. For a fleeting moment, he saw Ms. Voluspa’s face, devoid of sympathy, before darkness enveloped him.
When consciousness returned, he lay on a cot in the clinic, the scent of antiseptic mingling with the remnants of childhood innocence. The school nurse, her features soft and kind, hovered above him. “Hello, Sleepyhead,” she chirped, her voice a soothing balm. “Welcome back from dreamland. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” Ichabode managed, though the echo of laughter still rang in his ears.
“Can you remember what triggered your seizure?” she asked gently. He shook his head, swallowing the lump of anxiety lodged in his throat. The truth was tangled in his mind—this chaos, this madness, was woven into the fabric of his being.
He could sense her concern. “You’ve had a seizure,” she continued as if reading the unease in his silence. “Your parents are on their way.”
As he waited, time stretched, filled with the whisper of a thousand unspoken words. Outside the clinic, he imagined the world spinning as it always had, while inside, the atmosphere thickened. He could feel the weight of Ms. Voluspa’s intention hovering above him like a dark cloud, culminating into a storm.
In the principal’s office, Ms. Voluspa leaned close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Ichabode meets the criteria for the new educational study,” she insisted. “The one on problematic children. He daydreams, defies authority, and thrives on chaos! A perfect candidate.”
With each passing moment, Ichabode listened intently, sensing the chains of his existence being forged anew. He was not merely a child with fanciful thoughts; he was a potential subject in Ms. Voluspa’s twisted experiment.
Moments later, his parents arrived, concern etched on their faces. Ichabode’s heart sank, knowing they were unaware of the shadows lurking within the school. He glanced at Ms. Voluspa, whose expression turned smug as she meticulously planted seeds of doubt in his parents’ minds.
But deep inside, Ichabode felt something awaken—an ember of defiance. He had conjured pyramids in his mind, and perhaps he could turn this tale around.  He was more than a daydreamer; he was the architect of his destiny. As he exhaled, steeling himself against the tide of fate, he knew this was not the end. It was merely the beginning—the first step up an unseen pyramid, where his voice would soon resonate, not just with echoes of laughter but with the power of his own truth.