This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
What is going on here?
Hold on a second. Ugh.
There were cobwebs all over my microphone.
I know you did this.
I know they did this.
Who? You might be wondering if you're a new listener.
The spiders who live in the uppermost corners of my little studio.
Usually they send me emails from their tiny laptops but apparently they… Oh, I have an email.
I wonder who this is from.
Dear Ria, we covered your microphone in cobwebs for a very good reason.
Hmm. You have been ignoring us.
We had to get your attention and this was the only way.
Not really. Okay, let me see here.
Blah, blah, blah. Oh, here we go.
We demand more Ms. Swindletooth.
She should be in every story.
If you do not add Ms.
Swindletooth to this next… All right, look.
I don't respond to threats, okay?
If I want to put Ms.
Swindletooth in a story, I will do so.
You'll just have to listen and find out if I do.
Our story is called, Little Hedgehog is Back in Class.
Take it away, Savi.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You'll have to imagine the pictures in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go. Little Hedgehog and Bebe, her best friend of all time, could not wait for the first night of school.
They'd had an amazing time at Camp Prickle Tots, the premier summer camp for adventurous young hedgehogs, and they looked forward to telling their classmates all the highlights.
They also couldn't wait to see what their friends had been up to.
I wonder if anyone had a growth spurt, Bebe, or if anyone got fashionable, non -prescription glasses, or an eye patch.
It was a thrilling time those last few nights before the school year began.
There was just one problem.
On a clear night at the end of the summer, Little Hedgehog and Bebe were drawing hedgehogs in the dirt using sticks outside Little Hedgehog's burrow.
Bebe, doesn't mine look like Councillor Lucille from Camp Prickle Tots?
It does. When a delivery dragonfly nearly alighted upon Bebe's prickles before veering away wildly and settling on the ground.
Whoa, that was close.
You're that hedgehog with the sharp prickles, aren't you?
I am. You should really file those down.
My mom says they are one of the things that make me unique.
In addition to my skills at calligraphy, cricket snare setting, and fly fishing.
Bebe is fly fishing where you try to catch fish?
Bebe shook her head.
Flies. Okay, kids, enough chik -chat.
I've got a letter for a little hedgehog.
Eek! That's me. And since I'm not itching to meet this mom of yours, let me find your letter too, kid.
Remind me your name?
Bebe Hedgehog from the burrow around the bend.
Ah, here we go. The dragonfly squinted in the darkness.
Bebe Hedgehog from the burrow around the bend.
Thank you. This is a momentous evening.
The delivery dragonfly fluttered into the air and hovered above the hedgehogs.
What, uh, what's got you so excited about these letters, kids?
They hold the key to the fate of our entire school year.
They will determine the course of our lives for the next 10 months.
Uh -huh. They contain the names of our new teachers.
Ah, okay. I wouldn't sweat that too much, kids.
It's only 10 months.
You'll make the best of it.
See ya, and file those down.
The dragonfly flew away.
Open yours first, Bebe.
No, you. I insist. Bebe, I demand.
How about this? We open them at the exact same moment.
Okay. Three, two, one, open.
The two tiny hedgehogs tore open the envelopes and gasped.
Ms. Hammer Thistle?
Ms. Hammer Thistle?
Oops. I mean Thistle.
Dun, dun, dun! Ms. Hammer Thistle was notorious.
The subject of countless rumors swirling around school.
I heard she eats cactuses for breakfast.
She's only laughed one and a half times in her whole life.
My cousin's neighbor's math tutor told me she gave a kid a tummy ache for three weeks just by making eye contact with him.
I hear she sleeps standing up.
That last one was almost certainly true.
Since Ms. Hammer Thistle was a flamingo.
Bebe, what are we going to do?
I do not know, but at least we'll get through it together.
Soon, the big knight arrived, and Bebe arrived on Little Hedgehog's doorstep.
Hey, Bebe, Mr. Hedgehog said, opening the burrow door.
Little Hedgehog's just finishing up getting, I'm here.
Hi, Bebe, Little Hedgehog said, twirling into the room.
Greetings, Little Hedgehog.
I like your new prickle bow.
Thank you. My Nana Hedgehog gave it to me as a back to school gift.
Bebe, that's an interesting garment you have on.
I love the pink color.
It brings out your eyeball prickles.
Thank you. It is a utility vest.
It is a pomme down back to school gift from my cousin, Gerlinda, who grew out of it after winning first place in a portobello mushroom eating contest.
I can fit all of my everyday items in it.
Bebe said, fishing a paw into the mini pockets, such as my magnifying glass.
My ball of twine. Nifty.
Seems like overkill for school, but okay.
And my miniature stapler.
Candy. You need that daily?
You never know when you might need to collate and staple, Mr.
Hedgehog. Little Hedgehog and Bebe turned to leave.
Bye, dad. See you later, Mr.
Hedgehog. Hold on. Little Hedgehog, why are you wearing that poncho?
Mr. Hedgehog had only just had his first cup of tea for the evening, and the fact that Little Hedgehog was wearing a loosely fitted garment, slung over her shoulder prickles, had escaped his attention until that very moment.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe giggled.
Dad, this is a cape.
A cape has more formal styling than a traditional poncho, Mr.
Hedgehog. Little Hedgehog, why are you wearing that cape?
This cape. Yup. The cape that is draped over Little Hedgehog's shoulder prickles, Mr.
Hedgehog. The only cape in the vicinity.
Why are you wearing it?
For fun, dad. Pure sartorial enjoyment, Mr.
Hedgehog. Mr. Hedgehog squinted.
Okay, off to school.
Good tidings, Mr. Hedgehog.
Yay. Yay. Yay. The final yay came from beneath Little Hedgehog's poncho.
I mean cape. Not so fast.
Little Hedgehog might have been wearing her cape for fun, but she was also wearing it in order to smuggle her pet chameleon.
Little Guy. To school.
Put him back. Okay, dad.
Sorry, little guy. I tried.
Minutes later, Little Hedgehog and Bebe were on their way.
Little Hedgehog was no longer wearing her cape.
How does your dad always seem to know what we're up to?
I don't know, Bebe.
It's almost as if he knows things we don't.
It was a beautiful night.
The moon was a golden curl of lemon rind in the sky.
As the two tiny hedgehogs skipped along the trail to school, they discussed Ms.
Hammerthistle. Bebe, do you think the rumors are true?
I suppose so. The various rumors are remarkably consistent in describing her as the strictest, sternest, most unforgiving...
Oh, look at this little hedgehog.
Bebe fished in one of her many pockets for her magnifying glass and a penlight.
She held them up to something on the ground.
It was a snail. For just one second.
Imagine being this snail.
You're moseying along in the dark of the night when a blinding light comes out of nowhere and two enormous prickly mammals loom over you, grinning wildly.
The snail was terrified.
It shrank towards the ground, quivering beneath the heat of the penlight.
Hello! Greetings. Oh, it's so cute!
Look at its tentacle eyes.
I wonder if they're supposed to be shaking like that.
Don't worry, snail.
We already ate breakfast.
Come on, Bebe. We don't want to be late for school.
Indeed. The blinding light switched off and the massive prickle bears lumbered away.
Once at school, the students were ushered into the courtyard for evening announcements.
Small lanterns were placed around the courtyard's perimeter and there were large letters strung up between two trees that read, Welcome Back, Students!
Principal Petri Dish took her place at the microphone.
Welcome, students, to what I firmly believe will be the most eye -opening school year yet.
I have several thrilling announcements to share with you before I send you off to your classrooms where you will undoubtedly flourish and thrive, unlike the withering orchid currently on my dining room table.
The dozens of students blanked up at Principal Petri Dish.
Bebe, Little Hedgehog whispered, scanning the teachers who stood off to the side.
Do you see Miss Hammerthistle anywhere?
A door to the courtyard swung open.
Miss Hammerthistle stalked out of it on spindly legs and settled in among the other teachers.
Now then, we've made a few tweaks to our school dress code.
Suspenders must now be worn with trousers.
Interesting. Any student wearing eyeglasses must now have a prescription for said eyeglasses.
Several students removed their fashionable yet unnecessary eyeglasses and tucked them into pockets.
And I say this with a heavy heart, but the students collectively furrowed their brows.
We no longer allow garments with more than 37 pockets.
My vest has 35, Bebe whispered.
That was close, Bebe.
And now we've got an announcement from Miss Windletooth.
Your favorite student activities director, here she is.
Miss Windletooth was, in fact, the only student activities director.
She was also a rabbit of unusual size, with prominent front teeth, generously proportioned ears, and a tendency to perform original songs about upcoming school events and programs.
She stepped up to the microphone and closed her eyes, allowing the suspense to build.
The students exchanged mildly concerned looks.
Off to the side, Principal Petri Dish's ears twitched.
And at that very moment, in her seat in the courtyard, beneath the lemon -rined moon, Little Hedgehog saw something that changed everything.
She saw Miss Hammer Thistle, who was standing with impeccable posture among the crowd of teachers, wink.
Little Hedgehog thought she might burst with excitement.
She had to tell Bebe, but she couldn't tell Bebe.
She decided to surprise her with a discovery at the end of school announcements.
Meanwhile, Miss Windletooth was still in the middle of her dramatic pause.
She paused for so long that she seemed frozen in place.
Finally, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, settled them at a point above the student's heads, and sang, Pay close attention, my dears.
Let this message fall upon your ears.
At that moment, the welcome message, strung between two trees above Miss Windletooth, fell upon her ears.
Miss Windletooth was strong in musical ambition, but she was not strong physically.
She crumpled to the ground.
The students burst into gasps and giggles as several teachers rushed to help their fallen colleague.
Principal Petri Dish retook the microphone.
Unfortunately, I think Miss Windletooth will need some time to recover from that completely unforeseen incident.
Allow me to make the announcement myself.
We've got a new supplier for school lunches, and we do hope you all grab a tray this evening and try the new delicious offerings for yourself.
The teachers managed to untangle Miss Windletooth and cart her to the nurse's office, but the welcome sign lay strewn on the ground.
Does anyone have a ball of twine?
Anyone, anyone. Someone did have a ball of twine.
Bebe rose from her seat and withdrew the ball of twine from her utility vest.
She handed it to Janitor Turtle Dove, who went to work restring the message between the trees.
Let's make sure the knots hold this time, shall we?
And that does it, Principal Petri Dish said.
Removing her doctor prescribed reading glasses.
Have a great year. As soon as the students began filing out of the courtyard, Little Hedgehog whirled around to face Bebe.
Her eyes sparkled with intrigue.
Bebe! Yes, Little Hedgehog.
I've made an incredible discovery.
Do tell. Little Hedgehog relayed her account of Miss Hammerthistle's wink.
Bebe, are you thinking what I'm thinking?
That despite the rumors that swirl incessantly around Miss Hammerthistle, painting her as a severe, humorless, unforgiving teacher, in fact, she is secretly a fun -loving teacher who has a misunderstood, dry sense of humor, communicated by the wink you witnessed so clearly.
That was exactly what I was thinking.
You get me, Bebe. Yay!
The two friends skipped along to class, carefree and optimistic.
They had no idea that the wink Little Hedgehog had so clearly witnessed was not a wink at all.
In fact, a gnat had flown into Miss Hammerthistle's eye, causing her to close it in a manner virtually indistinguishable from a wink.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe scampered through the classroom doorway just as the bell rang.
Miss Hammerthistle stood as still as a statue at the head of the class, eyeing Little Hedgehog and Bebe from behind cat's eye spectacles perched on the bridge of her beak as they scurried into the last two remaining seats.
So wonderful of you to join us, she said, without a trace of a smile.
Her feathers were a lovely salmon color and looked freshly preened.
Bebe, did you hear that?
She thinks it is wonderful we entered the classroom.
Now then, Miss Hammerthistle said, brandishing a lengthy piece of chalk in one webbed foot.
She wrote in great looping letters on the chalkboard, I do not grade on a curve.
You get the grade you earn.
No sob stories. Miss Hammerthistle emboldened and underlined no sob stories.
Most of the students gasped in shock, but Little Hedgehog and Bebe exchanged amused smiles.
She's really convincing, Bebe, I am nearly convinced.
I do not tolerate lateness.
As she finished writing this item, she swiveled her slender neck to give Little Hedgehog and Bebe a sharp look.
She's so committed to her role, Bebe.
Impressively committed.
Late assignments will be docked 10 points per day.
There will be no show and tell.
But I live for show and tell.
Lamented a small porcupine named Cletus McGee.
And absolutely no. The class telephone rang, startling everyone, including Miss Hammerthistle.
She stalked to the phone.
This is Miss Hammerthistle.
You need it delivered today.
I see. Miss Hammerthistle practically slammed the telephone back in its receiver.
As I was saying before I was interrupted, there will be absolutely no bark chewing in my class.
Several students spontaneously rose from their seats and spat into the trash can.
The rest of the morning proceeded in similar fashion, with Miss Hammerthistle laying out rules and expectations.
All Paul, hoof, claw, and talon writing must be legible.
And the students gasping in shock.
At lunchtime, Little Hedgehog and Bebe lined up with everyone else to try the new lunch offerings.
Bebe, I wonder if they have cricket fritters.
I am of two minds about the possibility of cricket fritters being part of the new lunch offerings.
On the one paw, I love them.
On the other paw, my mother's cricket fritters are so legendary that I fear school -provided cricket fritters could never live up to my sky -high expectations, and could, with time, alter my perspective on cricket fritters more generally.
Good point! It was also a moot point, because there were no cricket fritters on offer.
Instead, the lunch lady, Miss Hippopotamus, ladled something resembling swamp mud onto their trays.
Here you go, kids. Cricket sludge surprise.
Cletus McGee was next in line.
His eyes lit up when the sludge hit his tray.
Yum! After lunch, Miss Hammerthistle handed out cards with class job assignments.
Woohoo! I'm the glass janitor!
I'm the door holder!
I was hoping for that all summer as I lazed in a murky puddle near my grandma's house.
I'm a line leader. I'm line caboose.
Man, I really wanted to be janitor, but when Little Hedgehog and Bebe looked down at the small cards Miss Hammerthistle had placed on their desks, their eyes went wide.
On each card, in their teacher's looping script, were the words, See me after class.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe spent the rest of the school night wondering what Miss Hammerthistle could have in store for them.
Bebe, Little Hedgehog whispered as Miss Hammerthistle reviewed her expectations around shoelaces.
Shoelaces should be black, white, tan, or hunter green.
If I catch you with a neon green shirt.
Do you think Miss Hammerthistle is going to reveal her true nature to us after school?
Perhaps she can sense that we would not betray her secret.
Maybe. It was then that they noticed the classroom had gone silent.
Miss Hammerthistle stood like a statue, staring at Little Hedgehog and Bebe without blinking.
The two friends immediately started taking notes in their notebooks.
After what felt like forever, the final bell of the night rang out and the students filed out of the classroom.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe remained.
Miss Hammerthistle gestured for them to sit across from her desk.
I noticed, Miss Hammerthistle began, without preamble, that the two of you like to talk.
I do like to talk, sometimes to myself or to my peccamillion little guy.
I almost brought him to school, but Little Hedgehog trailed off upon seeing Miss Hammerthistle's severe expression.
And you. You enjoy talking as well.
My mom says our family has a long history of oral tradition, passed down at campfires from the days of yore.
Every year at our family reunion, we reserve several hours for storytelling by the fire.
Last year, my third cousin, Charles von Prickleboot, regaled us with an account of his trip around the globe, an apaw -crafted raft in search of the elusive giant hermit crab, known for toppling tugboats.
Miss Hammerthistle peered at Bebe, but did not comment on this anecdote.
I hope you understand, I in no way tolerate extraneous conversations during class.
Yes, Miss Hammerthistle, I mean Thistle.
Miss Hammerthistle shot Little Hedgehog a pointed look.
We understand, Miss Hammerthistle.
Good. That said, I asked you to see me after class, because I need the assistance of two students with high verbal acuity to serve as my messengers.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe exchanged a curious look, but said nothing.
I would like you to serve as my Class Errand Runners for the year.
You'll relay communiques between myself and other teachers, the nurse's office, and the like.
The types of tasks that detract from my central duty of educating the leaders of tomorrow.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe blinked.
You want us to be your personal errand runners?
You would like us to be your extremely special errand runners?
I am certain I did not use the word personal, and I said nothing of the specialness of this position.
Of course, understood.
It is a necessary job for my class.
Do you accept, or will I have to ask Cletus McGee?
We accept. We gladly accept, Miss Hammerthistle.
Good. Little Hedgehog and Bebe smiled, prickle to prickle.
Here is your first assignment.
Take these old books to the library.
Miss Hammerthistle said, dropping a stack of books into their waiting paws.
Make sure to ask Mr.
Fitzbookish how his summer went.
Engage and brief, what is it called, small talk.
I've never been gifted at such things, which is why I've chosen the two of you.
Oh, okay. Of course.
I love small talk. I am indifferent to small talk, but I will make an effort.
Good. You may leave.
They sprang from their seats and headed for the door.
When they were just scamper steps away, they heard, Now where did I put my stabler?
Bebe whirled around.
She fished something out of one of her 35 pockets.
Here you go, Bebe said, offering her mini -stapler across Miss Hammerthistle's desk.
You are welcome to keep it.
Miss Hammerthistle eyed Bebe.
She reached out a single webbed foot and took hold of the stapler.
Then, so quickly that Bebe thought she might have imagined it, Miss Hammerthistle winked.
Little Hedgehog and Bebe dutifully dropped off the old books to Mr.
Fitzbook -ish. I had a lovely summer, thank you for asking.
Miss Hammerthistle really wanted to know.
Indeed, did she know?
What a pleasant surprise.
Then, they scampered home beneath the lemon -rind moon.
They passed the time, discussing the latest wink.
That confirms it indubitably.
Miss Hammerthistle's a good actress.
She really had me going there.
The two friends skipped along the trail, feeling optimistic about their brand new school year.
Oh, I have an email.
Dear Ria, how dare you.
Miss Windletooth was barely in this story.
She only got to sing two lines of her magnificent… Okay, I think I get the gist of this email.
Look, Miss Windletooth, she's like chili powder.
You add a little to your soup.
Perfect. You add too much.
You're ruin it. Don't worry, it makes total sense.
I hope you loved the story.
And I hope you have a fantastic new school year.
Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed, and produced by me, Ria Pector.
My in -house tech director, Peter Kay, runs my website and puts my stories on the internet for all of you to enjoy.
Thank you to my Little Stories Premium subscribers who are making it possible for me to keep sharing my stories with families around the world.
If you'd like to get more of the stories you love, access to Little Stories for Sleep, an exclusive bedtime podcast, and ad -free listening.
Join or gift a subscription at littlestoriespremium .com.
Thank you to Savi for the super important reminder message at the beginning.
And thank you to the many Premium subscribers who supplied sound effects used in this story.
Thank you to Luca, Henry, Charlie, Andrew, Isla, Jules, Matilda, Finn, Skyler, Grady, Teddy, Linden, Ada, Cece, Vinny, Sage, David, James, Annabelle, Naomi, and Isabel.
And thank you, as always, for listening in.
Thank you.
