When the devil comes a-knocking

Mr Ainsley, or Terrence to his friends (no, not Terry, TERRENCE), was the first to spot the trespasser, out from the teacher's lounge window. Well, technically only his arms were trespassing, dangling pass the gate's thin bars. The rest of the haggard, pale looking, half-naked stranger pressed limply against the gate, slack jaw opening and closing, like he was reaching under his couch for something.

He quickly alerted the P.E teacher Mr Grenshaw beside him, a hulking, skin-headed former semi-pro rugby player who dressed exclusively in shorts and tracksuit jackets, who in turn would insist they both head out to him, as he texted the headmistress. Ainsley would rather enjoy the comfort of his coffee and leather sofa for as long as he could before his next geography class, but he'd probably have to be there to fill out some tedious incident form or something.

They waited at the entrance for her after about five minutes of alternating between Ainsley's prodding for the stranger's name, age, etc, with the same voice you put on for a crying child when you ask where their mummy is, and Grenshaw's bellowing and threats of calling the police. Neither pressed too hard, because, frankly, the man frightens them; skinny, dressed in a torn polo shirt and jeans, both stained grey and red, with a grey, shrivelled body beneath, and the constant snapping of his jaw.

"I reckon it's one of them video pranks" Grenshaw proudly announces. An awkward moment passes, before Ainsley indulges him with "...a what?'.

"Oh it's a big social media thing, where the ki-".

"No, I know what a video prank is, I'm not stupid. I'm asking how is...that a prank, on video or otherwise?" Ainsley replies, more than a little jaded with the P.E teacher's, who's far more P than E, routine stupidity. He didn't have much respect for any teacher who's paperwork regularly needed spell-checking from an actual adult.

"Well, this is what they do, isn't it? They dress up as something scary, catch people's reactions on video, and put it on youtube!" He insists, with the relish of someone who thinks they've cracked the case.

"Well, unless they've enlisted a middle-aged man twice their age, and convinced him to fast and not bathe a month prior, I doubt that's the case".

"Ah, best not to make personal remarks, Mr Ainsley. Miss Baines had a right hump about it at the last workplace sensitivity training, remember?". Ainsley didn't actually, beyond how inviting her cleavage looked as she went on about objectification and similar modern nonsense he didn't care to understand, but sighed condescendingly anyway.

"Oh come on, he can't hear a word we're saying...isn't it obvious? He's probably some reprobate who's high as a kite on god knows what. Best to just call the police and get rid of him before he starts asking for change".

Mr Grenshaw shrugs, just as they turn to the sound of clicking heels, and see Miss Baines awkwardly hurrying over, her huge chest bouncing obscenely beneath her white blazer and mustard blouse. The two avert their eyes as she adjusts her blouse to cover the peeking frills of her violet bra, fiddling with her loosening, dyed blonde bun as she asks "oh god...how long has he been there?".

"Dunno, Miss Baines, but he's been at it since we saw him out the window" Grenshaw answers. "He won't answer us, either. Just keeps snapping at us. I could get a bat, and sort of...wave it at him if you want".

Miss Baines sighs and looks up at the former athlete through her red half-rim glasses, barely coming up to his chin even with the hair bun and heels. "No, no, then this whole mess turns into a court case of threatening **** with a deadly weapon. I'll just call the police. In the meantime, can one of you please just...push him off the fence? I'm worried he might climb over".