I didn’t realize it until it was too late. Edgar Allen Poe had reincarnated as a little James Hertford, a 3rd grade English student who could never sit still. At first it was hard to distinguish the drastic differences in his behavior and his writing from the first day of school to now.

Before, James didn’t really care much about the English language. He formed lazy sentences during writing time, and he spend most of the afternoons crumpling prices of paper and throwing them at the back of little Suzy Mayor’s blonde curls.

But just last week, he submitted one of the most brilliant writing pieces for our class write-a-thon. It was moving, raw, and unfiltered. It was like Edgar Allen Poe had possessed the hand that wrote those words.

Of course that could be the only explanation for this odd phenomenon, unless I was wrong. Perhaps little James simply learned how to write a masterpiece over the course of a couple of weeks. Maybe his brain was soaking up everything there was to know about the life of a distinguished writer. Or, his father was simply Edgar Allen Poe. Yes, that must be it. Perhaps Mr. Poe switched little James’ last name for the sake of anonymity.

Regardless, I have taken it upon myself to keep their secret and to let little James write on.