Free Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A psychotic relief teacher causes chaos at a High School.

Submitted: May 25, 2008

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Submitted: May 25, 2008

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FREE TIME

 

BY

 

IAN KIDD

 

 

 

 

 

 

I keep telling myself - these things happen. But even now, looking back, it's hard to believe

 

that it did, and even harder to understand "Why?" People have suggested insanity, but all

 

that happened can't be summed up in one word - life isn't that easy. But I'm babbling, and

 

you haven't a clue what about.

 

 Two years ago I was in Year 12 of High School. During "free" periods in the day (teachers

 

used to call them "study periods" or "uncommitted time", but what the heck, we'll call them

 

frees - it's quicker) some teachers used to supervise our "study". We messed about, ran

 

amok, and generally raised hell. They constantly tried to keep us in line with threats of

 

taking away our "flexi-time" (frees at the end of the day where we could go home instead)

 

but they didn't dare (what they would have done with us if they had?) and everyone knew

 

this, so consequently these threats were less than effective). Then, one Tuesday

 

afternoon, we caught our first glimpse of him.

 

 He came into the classroom allocated for our "study" (ie paper dart throwing

 

competitions). He was tall, thin, his face bony and mean, wearing an old-fashioned

 

leather cape and a black hat. If you'd given him a monocle, he could have passed for a

 

Gestapo agent in one of those bad 1940's war films. I had to laugh.

 

Big mistake.

 

 He came over, leant in on me and said in an oddly sinister voice, "Are you laughing at

 

me?"

 

 I didn't quite know what to say. "Erm...erm..."

 

 A thin smile spread over his face. "This outfit is quite ridiculous, isn't it?"

 

 "Yes," I told him frankly.

 

 So he hit me. Twice. One slap across each cheek. Drawing back, he threw off his

 

"Gestapo" outift as I sat, stunned, and took his seat, arrogance exuding from every pore

 

in his body. "You will all be quiet." His tone of voice indicated that this was not a request.

 

That, and what he had just done to me, would have shut any idiot up.

 

 Any idiot except Russ Higgins, of course. "Who's going to make us?" he demanded,

 

and threw a paper dart at the new guy.

 

 He caught the dart and - to my horror - ate it. He sat there, chewed a drawing of a naked

 

lady, and swallowed it. Then he was up on his feet, like a cat ready for the kill. I recoiled in

 

my seat, but I was not his target. He walked to the window, his beady little eyes glaring at

 

the apparently unconcerned Russ. "I am." And he put his hand through the window,

 

smashing the glass, then pulling his hand back out again. There were smears of blood

 

on the window, but none, that I could see, on his hand. "Anyone argues with me they go

 

the same way as my hand - but all the way down," he pointed, "head first."

 

 Like I said, any idiot would have shut up by now. Russ, however, wasn't just any idiot,

 

he was an A grade, king-sized cretin. "I'd like to see you try," he snickered.

 

 Not a clever thing to say to this guy. He sprang, grabbed Russ, lifting him over his head

 

with ease, opened what was left of the window, and dangled Russ out of it by his feet.

 

"Happy now?"

 

 Even Russ now realised he was dealing with a fruitcake. "Quite happy. I'd like to come

 

back up now, thank you."

 

 "Certainly," he dumped Russ back on the floor and walked back to his desk, sitting down.

 

 "Who are you?" sports champ Mark Spring demanded.

 

 He stared. "You can call me Beelzebub."

 

 If that was a joke, it wasn't particilarly funny, and I for one had had enough of this

 

psychotic imbecile. I stood up. "I don't know who you think you are, but what you just did is

 

illegal, matey. You're in serious trouble. I'll report you."

 

 "The teachers back me totally," said Beelzebub.

 

 "I'll tell my parents," I shot back.

 

 "Do so," Beelzebub smiled coldly, "and I will kill them." He said it, and he meant it.

 

 I went cold. This guy wasn't just psychotic, he was dangerous. "I'm sure the police will be

 

very interested in what you just said."

 

 "Tell the police," Beelzebub stared, "and I'll kill you."

 

 All eyes were on me and the loony bin. The ball was in my court. If I'd been Rambo, Arnie,

 

or simply smart, I'd have taken out a gun and blown the fruit-loop away there and then. But

 

I didn't grunt, I wasn't built like a tank, and I didn't even have a gun. Moreover, I was stupid.

 

I sat down.

 

Beelzebub smiled. Game, set and match to him. For now.

 

 

 

 

 Well, the maniac was right about one thing. Not only did the teachers back him totally,

 

they loved him. They adored him. I'm sure most of them wanted to sleep with him. Free

 

periods became nightmares. Everyone sat, never talked, did their work and did it well.

 

He'd walk around, scrutinising everyone like a robot, and if he saw one piece of work worth

 

less than top marks, he'd tear it up and force the writer to eat it. Put simply, he had no

 

marbles, or if he did, he'd left them in his underwear drawer at home.

 

This torture went on for six weeks, before one event started a chain reaction that led to -

 

well, you'll see.

 

 Anyway, there's a fat, stupid guy in our class - Charlie Bucket. Now Charlie got teased a

 

lot, not because he was a character from a Roald Dahl book, but because, well...how can

 

I put this? He was incontinent. He had a weak bladder, and he'd occasionally wet himself

 

- totally unknowingly - in class. This unfortunate condition led to the repeating cracking of

 

a bad joke from a Monty Python movie, with poor old Charlie earning the nickname

 

"Incontentious Bucket". Yes well, it seemed funny at the time. Anyway, that Tuesday "free",

 

Charlie stuck his hand up in class.

 

 "Get back to your work," said Beelzebub.

 

 "But sir - " Charlie protested.

 

 "Put down your hand or I'll chop the thing off," Beelzebub ordered, still icy calm.

 

 "But - "

 

 I frowned. Beelzebub didn't know about Charlie's...ahem...problem.

 

 "I need - " Charlie began.

 

 Beelzebub leapt up and went over. He pulled away Charlie's desk and cornered him. "What

 

do you want?"

 

 "I need to go to the toilet."

 

 "Wait 'til home time."

 

 "I - I - I can't, sir!" Charlie begged. It happened. He wet himself. The urine trickled down

 

his leg and all over Beelzebub's foot.

 

 Beelzebub looked amused. "Do you realise what you've just done?"

 

 "I told you, sir," Charlie moaned tearfully.

 

 "You've just bought yourself detention, Mr Bucket," Beelzebub told him. "Two hours. Today.

 

Straight after this."

 

 "I - I have to go clean myself up - " Charlie started to rise.

 

 "Sit down," Beelzebub ordered sharply. Charlie sat down. "You can sit down, soaked in

 

your own filth, for the duration of this lesson and for your two hour detention."

 

 "But sir - " Charlie protested.

 

 "Do you want to make it three hours, Bucket?" Beelzebub wanted to know. "I have no

 

plans for the evening; I'm easy."

 

 "No, sir," Charlie whimpered.

 

 "But you can't just make him sit there!" I cried, appalled.

 

 Beelzebub just ignored him. "So we're agreed then, Bucket?" His eyes bore into him.

 

 "Yes, sir,: Charlie sighed pitifully.

 

 "Excellent," Beelzebub walked back to his desk, smirking.

 

 I just sat there, aghast, and knew that Beelzebub had just gone too far.

 

 

 

 

 "He's just gone too far!" I explained to my best friend, pornographic video and magazine

 

dealer Joey Watts, outside school the next morning.

 

 "How far?" Joey questioned, his fierce blue eyes staring at a worm on the ground.

 

 "Too far!" I exploded.

 

 "All the way?" Joey demanded, crushing the worm with his shoe.

 

 "Yes!" I really shouldn't have said that. Especially to Joey Watts.

 

 "Hey, fellas!" He yelled at some Year 8's passing on the playground. "Mr Beelzebub

 

went all the way with Charlie Bucket in front of the whole class!" The Year 8's giggled

 

idiotically and hurried away. "Oh, that felt good," Joey sighed in pleasure. "Oh, sooo

 

good."

 

 "You're sick," I said in disgusted amusement.

 

 "So you reckon this Beelzebub's got a screw loose, then?" Joey was in totally serious

 

mode now.

 

 "I don't think he's got one screw fully tightened, to be honest with you," I replied. "He's a

 

flamin' nutcase. I mean, does he really expect us to believe his name's Beelzebub? What

 

kind of name is that?"

 

 "A very, very, very, very stupid one," Joey said slowly. "We going to do a number on him,

 

then?"

 

 "You mean, check his house?" I grinned. "Tonight?"

 

 "Midnight," Joey said ominously. "I'll hack into the school computer, get his address. Meet

 

me at his house - at midnight!" His eyes stared madly. "The witching hour! The time of evil!

 

Oooh!" Joey burst into hysterical laughter.

 

 "You're mad," I muttered. "Utterly mad."


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