The Wikkeling by Steven Arntson

. . . not supposed to run,” said Gary, his voice shaking.
    â€œ
Go!
” said Henrietta, and she shoved Gary in front of her. They fled.
    â€œStop!” Ms. Span yelled as they departed their line and zipped through the one adjacent, interrupting the jumping jacks of several students.
    â€œSEVEN!” said the class.
    â€œOh my!” said Mr. Safety as Henrietta and Gary skidded from line to line, causing considerable confusion.
    â€œEIGHT!” yelled some students. “SIX!” yelled others. The lines began to break up as Henrietta and Gary desperately pushed through, weaving toward the front of the room, toward Mr. Safety.
    â€œTake care now!” said Mr. Safety nervously, holding up one hand as if to ward off their approach. He placed his whistle in his mouth, preparing to blow.
    â€œIt’s gaining!” yelled Gary, glancing back. The creature wasn’t running, exactly—it flickered after them, disappearing and reappearing in a series of approaching snapshots.
    Gary’s backward glance was poorly timed. He did not see Clarice Sodje looming up before him, right in the middle of her eighth, or maybe ninth, jumping jack. Gary and Clarice were two of the larger kids in the class, and their impact was considerable. Clarice was mid-jump when they collided, and she and Gary crashed to the padded floor in a grand sprawl. Henrietta was right behind, and there was no time for her to stop. She tripped over them both and went flying right into the soft, unprepared stomach of Mr. Safety.
    Weeeeeeeeeeeh!
shrilled the whistle as she and Mr. Safety tumbled backwards. Mister Safety landed squarely on his back and expelled the remainder of his breath in a rush that popped the whistle from his mouth. It shot to the limit of its lanyard and snapped back, smacking him in the eye. “Weeeeeeeeeeeh!” went the sound again—but it wasn’t the whistle this time. It was Mr. Safety himself, and this final falsetto cry was followed by a series of agonized gasps as he struggled for the breath that had been knocked out of him.
    Henrietta landed to the side and scrambled forward, looking back to check on Gary, who had now untangled himself from Clarice and was gaining his feet.
    â€œTEN!” said the few members of class who’d managed to keep count during the fracas.
    â€œGary! Wait!” said Henrietta. Her glance back had revealed that the creature was no longer pursuing them. It was gone—vanished.
    Gary turned around, searching. “It must be somewhere,” he said, eyes darting this way and that. “Oh, wow, it was . . . that was . . .
the thing
! The one I saw when you got your headache!”
    There was no opportunity for further discussion. Ms. Span, who had just called the nurse’s office to order some medical assistance for Mr. Safety (who lay splayed and gasping on the ground, both hands covering his injured eye), returned her phone to her pocket and grabbed both Henrietta and Gary by the ears.
    â€œWe are returning to our classroom,
now
!” she barked at the class. “Line up and follow!” She dragged Henrietta and Gary with her into the hallway, the class obediently following, tittering animatedly at how exciting it had all been, and what ridiculous weirdos Henrietta and Gary were.
    Gary’s plan was now, for better or worse, in motion: they’d earned the detention they’d wanted.

    At the close of the school day, as the rest of the students filed out to the buses after completing their final typing practice on the subject of autumn (“I WILL NOT JUMP IN A PILE OF LEAVES ”), Henrietta and Gary stayed in their seats. Gary winked conspiratorially at Henrietta, who tried to wink back and surprised herself by succeeding.
    â€œHenrietta and Gary, you will spend your detention today sitting quietly and regretting your behavior,” said Ms. Span from the front. “Did you know that our class ranked in