Ben Gillespie, a male kindergarten teacher at Roosevelt Elementary, didn't generally compete in the realm of classroom decorations.

But Halloween.

Halloween was Mr. Gillespie's thing.

On October 1, per custom, he drove to Roosevelt with the life-size skeleton riding shotgun. He carried the skeleton over his shoulder to his kindergarten classroom, then suspended it from the ceiling using eye-hooks he'd screwed in years ago and twine loops from the supply closet.

He knotted the bandanna around its skull. He applied the eye patch. He took five minutes perfecting the skeleton's angle of descent and its articulation of joints — the evil clutching of fingers, realistic knee angles, et cetera.

Then Charlie Maldonado walked in.

"Ahh, Mr. Gillespie!" he cried, dropping his backpack. "That thing! That bony person's *flying!*"

Ben grinned and slipped off the eye patch and fake-blood-streaked bandanna, which were admittedly — for six year olds — a lot.

"Mr. Scallywag T. Plast-a-bones?" he said. "He's only a decoration, Charlie. That's all."

Charlie's knuckles were white around his jacket cuffs.

Ben breathed and peacefully closed his eyes. With time, he knew, the boy would match his pose.

"You see, Mr. Plast-a-bones used to teach kindergarten in this very classroom," Ben said, "years and years before I got to Roosevelt, before I was even born..."

Ava Hodge and Jayce McClain entered the classroom and drifted over to listen beside Charlie.

"...the thing was, he didn't like kindergarten. He thought kindergartners smelled weird. They always talked at lunch instead of eating. He wanted to teach fourth grade instead like Ms. Knox. But the principal wouldn't let him."

One of the kids, maybe Ava, said, "Nuh-uh, Mr. Gillespie!"

Ben continued, "So Mr. Plast-a-bones kept on teaching kindergarten, even though he hated it. He made each student choose *one crayon* per day to do all their coloring with it. He put two glue sticks in his desk for the whole year, and if the class ran out in October? Too bad. The kids just had to hold their art projects together with their fingers..."

He wasn't sure if the glue stick would've been invented. The story was never the same twice.

By the time he'd finished, all 28 students were standing on the carpet, quiet, many with their heads tipped ponderously to one side.

The bell rang.

"Up — here we go!" Ben said. He arched his back to see the calendar. "Day 23 of your kindergarten experience is officially underway."

The students knew their post-bell routine, hanging their backpacks and depositing lunches in the purple crate.

Ben caught up with Charlie Maldonado at his table. The boy was beginning his morning journaling.

"Hey," he whispered conspiratorially. "Would it be okay if I gave Scallywag T. Plast-a-bones back his eye patch and bandanna? He's sad without them. He thinks the kindergartners will laugh at him, they won't be scared enough."

Charlie looked up at the flying skeleton with a squint. Then he glanced at Ava — what did *she* think?

They both nodded yes.