In the Bag

The tale of an unwelcome visitor in a third grade classroom, and the brave soul who survived to tell the story…

by: Terry Riccardi

During outdoor recess. I was enjoying the spring sun on my face while my third-graders ran around, letting off steam. But then one little girl picked up a worm and hurried toward me. “Look at this!” she shouted and thrust her hand out proudly.

All my life, I’ve had a deep-seated fear of insects and slimy, crawly things. Being a million times bigger and able to kill them with sprays, swatters, and shoe soles doesn’t stop my involuntary recoil and shudder on sight of them.

Steeling myself to remain calm in front of the students who had gathered around us, I looked at her prize. Forcing a smile, I said, “Yes, it’s a lovely little worm, but I think it might be happier to be back on the ground.” She put down the crawler as I prided myself on concealing my fear, and we headed for the annual Mother’s Day plant sale in the gym.

Lunchroom tables against the gym wall held tiny cardboard containers of violets, pansies, and daisies. Each child chose a plant, which was then put into a small paper bag. Back in class, we put all the bags in a row on a long table in the rear of the room.

As I started a lesson after lunch, I heard an odd sound — almost a buzzing, yet also crinkly. The children watched, not talking or moving, as I walked slowly around the room, trying to find the source of the noise. 

When I reached the long table, I saw the bag on the right end of the row move ever so slightly before becoming as still as its comrades. The strange sound came again, clearly from the suspect bag. I inched closer. The bag now showed definite signs of being inhabited. Its folded-over top started to open, and something began to emerge.

Time stood still for all living things in that room, except for the one that slowly, slowly crawled out of the paper bag. A large brown head was followed by a long yellow-and-brown striped body that seemed to keep coming out of its bag forever. In shock and growing revulsion, I observed its long wings and even longer legs as the huge insect began to crawl down the outer side of the bag and head for the nearest table leg.

Those students who could see the creature went wide-eyed as a total silence blanketed the room.

The children would pick up immediately on any fear I showed, and panic and pandemonium would ensue. So, though frozen where I stood by terror, I called each table to line up quickly along the side of the room nearest the door. As the former occupant of the now-silent bag was slowly and unsteadily crawling down the table leg, the class followed me out into the hallway. They waited there while I used the wall phone to call the main office.

“The custodian will be up as soon as he has time,” said the secretary. That meant anywhere from a few minutes to the twelfth of never. The children remained quiet, but only because their outwardly fearless teacher seemed poised and calm. 

Peeking back inside, I saw our unwelcome visitor had reached the floor and was now crawling toward the cluttered back of the room. If we left it unobserved, how would we know where it was when the custodian eventually showed up? The piece of my mind not yet numbed and blank searched for a solution. 

I decided to go find the custodian, rather than stay in the hallway for the unforeseeable future. But first, I had to stop the giant intruder from reaching cover.

Eyes glued to the Godzilla bug, I took a deep breath and re-entered the classroom. Here goes nothing! I spotted an empty jar, whose mouth looked just large enough to surround the invader. I grabbed it, walked up behind the creature, and brought the jar down over it. 

Once I stopped trembling, I returned to my class, still unnaturally silent in the hall. Moving as one unit, we went down two flights of stairs and along the first floor. Soon I spotted the very man we needed. Like all teachers, I knew that the custodian was the lord of the building and must be handled with great care.

“Can you please come up to our room? There’s a really huge insect there,” I said politely. All the children behind me looked at him respectfully.

“I’ll be up in a while. I have a few things to take care of first.”

“O.K. It’s just that I can’t take my class back upstairs while that thing is crawling around,” I said and smiled innocently.

The custodian moved on, and we moved on with him. He stopped abruptly, and I bumped into him. “Sorry,” I said, giving him my best apologetic smile.

After several steps, with my entire class trailing quietly behind him, he turned and gave an annoyed sigh.

“Actually, I can do it now. What room are you in?”

“Room 320.” I smiled gratefully.

As we went up the stairs, he asked about the creature.

“I don’t know,” I told him. “I never saw anything like it before. It came out of one of the paper bags from the plant sale. I was afraid it might hurt one of the children, so I got everyone out of the room.”

We waited outside our doorway while the custodian went inside. He picked up the jar and looked at the captive. “This is your big problem? A carpenter bee? They don’t hurt anyone.” He left with the jar, shaking his head.

Relief flowing from head to toe, I led the children back into the room and we resumed our normal routines.

“Can we have recess outside again tomorrow?” the class wanted to know.

“Sure,” I said. What was a worm compared to that ginormous bee? I might even let the next worm-finder put their worm in my hand…or not.

When not writing dark tales, Terry Riccardi can be found trying to bowl a perfect game, reading, or searching for lost jigsaw puzzle pieces. She hopes to be a world-famous author when she grows up. Her work has appeared in Newtown Literary Journal, Delmarva Review, Blood Moon Rising, and other publications.