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(𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞)

☠︎︎ ☠︎︎ ☠︎︎ ༒︎ ☠︎︎ ☠︎︎ ☠︎︎ ༒︎ ☠︎︎ ☠︎︎ ☠︎︎ ༒︎

"I can't stand you, why are you so darn annoying?"

"Calamansi?"

Your face only a mother could love...

"Well, Chad!"

You're not exactly a handsome stud! If you find me offensive that's your problem. "That's enough of that," said the teacher. I'll not have disruptions within my class. "Yeah, remarked Fatima, "Everyone knows you're the class clown!" "Ok, knock it off, everyone, barked the teacher."

"I can't stand you either!" My mutt is more handsome than you. Calamansi practically spat the words at Chad, her eyes flashing with irritation.

"Calamansi? Really?" Chad leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Listen, your face-your body, your very posture-offends me."

"Well," Calamansi shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm, "You're an ugly too!"

The classroom buzzed with the tension that was building between the two. Fatima, sitting nearby, egged them on with a wide grin, her eyes darting between Chad and Calamansi. "Ooooh! Look at you two. It's like watching a bad television show or telenovela."

The teacher, Mrs. Marques, a sharp Brazilian woman in her mid-forties with a tired yet authoritative air, slammed her hand on the desk. "That's enough of that!" she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the heated exchange. "I will not have any further disruptions in my classroom."

Fatima, always quick to stir the pot, chimed in with a laugh. "Yeah, everyone knows Chad's the dummy. Why stop now?"

"Fatima," Mrs. Marques said, narrowing her eyes. "I said, that's enough." She paused, drawing in a breath before addressing the class. "Turn your page to-"

A loud scraping noise interrupted her, as Lucas, one of the quieter students, shifted his chair awkwardly. His eyes darted nervously toward the front of the room, avoiding the brewing conflict between Chad and Calamansi. No one ever really paid much attention to Lucas, except when something went wrong.

"You got a problem too, Lucas?" Chad sneered, turning his attention toward the boy, sensing an easier target now that Mrs. Marques had tried to shut down the argument with Calamansi.

Lucas, startled, shook his head quickly. "No, no problem," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Marques crossed her arms, her patience clearly wearing thin. "We're here to discuss Brazilian history, not whatever nonsense is going on between you all. Can we please get back to the lesson? Now, as I was saying, we're going to talk about the significance of the Proclamação da República."

Chad rolled his eyes but begrudgingly flipped open his book. Calamansi sat stiffly in her chair, her jaw tight, staring daggers at Chad. Fatima snickered quietly, leaning over to whisper something to Gabriel, another classmate, who sat beside her.

"Chad and Calamansi, married by 30. Calling it now," she teased in a low voice. Gabriel chuckled under his breath, and the two exchanged knowing glances.

Suddenly, the lights in the classroom flickered, almost going out. The room plunged into brief darkness before the overhead lights buzzed back to life. Mrs. Marques frowned, glancing up at the ceiling.

"That's strange," she murmured.

"There's no storm forecasted today." She turned back to the class, but the mood in the room had shifted. A low, uneasy tension replaced the earlier bickering. Even Chad had gone quiet, his usual cockiness replaced with a furrowed brow.

Without warning, the door to the classroom creaked open slowly, the sound echoing eerily in the silent room. Everyone turned to look, but no one stood in the doorway. A cold breeze drifted in though the open windows.

"Who did that?" Mrs. Marques demanded, trying to regain control of the room. Her voice wavered just slightly. "That's enough, really-"

A loud crash reverberated from the back of the classroom. Everyone jumped, and when they looked, they saw that the bookshelf had toppled over. Books were scattered across the floor in a mess. The room felt colder, like the air had been sucked out of it.

Fatima giggled nervously, "What is this, some kind of prank, Chad? You trying to freak us out now?"

Chad shook his head, his usual bravado gone. "Not me," he said, his voice lower than usual. He glanced at Calamansi, who for once wasn't glaring at him. She was pale, her eyes wide, and she hadn't moved from her seat since the lights flickered.

The classroom was dead silent now. Mrs. Marques slowly stepped forward, glancing around. "Alright, enough games. Who's responsible for this?" She took a step toward the fallen bookshelf, but something in the air made her hesitate. Her expression grew tense, the confident teacher's mask slipping just slightly.

Then Lucas, still sitting in the corner, stood up suddenly. His eyes were locked on the empty doorway. "Someone's here," he whispered, barely audible, but enough for the front rows to hear.

Mrs. Marques stopped in her tracks. "Lucas, sit down. Don't be ridiculous."

But Lucas didn't sit. His eyes were wide, almost in a trance. "They've been waiting... all this time."

A shape-shifting Bicho Papão in the form of a small owl eerily observed the students from an open window sill.

The temperature in the classroom dropped further. A cold chill crawled up everyone's spine. Mrs. Marques froze, her eyes darting between Lucas and the open doorway, her authoritative composure cracking under the growing pressure of something unknown. She opened her mouth to speak but found her voice caught in her throat, as if the air had thickened, making it hard to breathe.

Lucas didn't blink. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the front of the classroom, his eyes still locked on the empty doorway. "They've waited long enough..." he whispered, his voice low and eerily calm. "It's time."

The spirit from the owl then took over and possessed Lucas's consciousness...

Mrs. Marques swallowed hard, trying to regain her grip on reality. "Lucas, stop this," she said, her voice trembling slightly. But Lucas continued his slow, measured steps, as if something was pulling him forward, unseen by everyone else.

The lights flickered again, more violently this time, buzzing as if they might explode at any moment. The students remained frozen, eyes wide with fear and confusion, watching Lucas move with a purpose none of them understood. Even Chad, always ready with a sarcastic remark, sat in stunned silence, his cocky façade crumbling in the face of whatever was unfolding.

The air in the room seemed to hum with an energy that none of them could explain, an almost electric tension that made the hair on the back of their necks stand on end. Then, suddenly, Lucas stopped. He stood right in front of the chalkboard now, facing the class, but his eyes were glazed over, as if he were seeing something far beyond the walls of the classroom. His lips parted, and when he spoke, his voice was not his own. It was deeper, more resonant, filled with an ancient weight that sent a shiver through everyone.

"Brazil," he began, his voice echoing unnaturally in the small room. "Land of gold and blood. You forget too easily. The chains, the screams, the

betrayal."

The room felt like it was spinning. Mrs. Marques stumbled back a step, clutching her desk for support, her face pale. "Lucas, stop this! This isn't funny!"

But Lucas-or whatever was speaking through him-ignored her. His eyes remained unfocused, staring past her, into something no one else could see.

"The soil remembers," the voice continued, rumbling like thunder. "The rivers ran red with the blood of those you enslaved. The mountains watched as empires rose and fell, and yet, the cries of the forgotten still echo in the wind."

The students stared in horror, unable to comprehend what was happening. Fatima gripped Gabriel's arm, her knuckles white, and Gabriel, always the joker, sat stone-faced, his breath shallow. Calamansi, usually so composed and fierce, was trembling, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"There were promises made," the spirit went on, "and promises broken. Republics born in shadows, born from greed, born from the ashes of oppression. And now..." Lucas' head tilted ever so slightly, his eyes finally refocusing on Mrs. Marques. "Now you teach them to forget. To gloss over the truth with your textbooks and sanitized stories."

The wind that had drifted in from the open door seemed to circle the room now, growing stronger, whipping papers off desks and scattering them through the air. Mrs. Marques clutched at her blouse, her heart pounding in her chest. "This is enough! Whoever is behind this, stop it now!" But her words felt hollow, powerless against the force that had overtaken the room.

Lucas took a step closer to the center of the classroom, his face impassive, his body still, except for his mouth, which continued to speak with the spirit's voice. "Do you know the names of those who died to build this nation? Do you know their faces, their stories? Or do you only remember the names of those who ruled, who took, who betrayed?"

His voice was a booming accusation, and the classroom trembled with the weight of it. The windows rattled in their frames. The students could hardly breathe, their hearts racing, their bodies locked in place, as if the air itself had become a vice, squeezing tighter with every passing second.

"History is not kind," the spirit said, its voice growing quieter now, almost a whisper, but still filled with that deep, resonant power. "It does not forget, and neither will I." Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind bowled over nine of the students and the teacher.

Lucas collapsed. His body crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The lights flickered once more before finally stabilizing, leaving the room bathed in a harsh fluorescent glow. The wind died instantly. The papers fluttered to the ground, and the eerie stillness that followed was almost worse than the chaos before.

For a long, breathless moment, no one moved. Mrs. Marques, staggered up from the floor, clutching her desk, and stared at Lucas' limp body on the floor. Chad, Fatima, Calamansi, Gabriel-every student not tossed like a rag doll. Sat frozen in their seats, too terrified to even breathe. The air still felt heavy, thick with the lingering presence of whatever had just spoken through Lucas.

Finally, Mrs. Marques broke the silence. Her voice was shaky, but she forced herself to speak. "Someone... someone call the nurse," she stammered, but no one moved. "Now!" she barked, the familiar authority creeping back into her tone.

Gabriel, wide-eyed, fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed the number.

Mrs. Marques knelt beside Lucas, her heart still pounding in her chest. She reached out a trembling hand to check for a pulse, her mind racing with what she had just witnessed. Was it real? Could it be real?

As her fingers touched Lucas' wrist, his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked, his gaze foggy and disoriented. "What... happened?" he whispered, his voice weak, his own once again.

No one answered.

© Charles Kemp