Boy College was killing them! The under-thirteen’s cricket team, coached by Mr Gordon, was playing against De La Salle College, in Malvern, and with only two minutes left, Boy College was ahead by eighty-six runs! There was no way that De La Salle could win!

On this particular afternoon, Year Eight Coordinator Mr Winterbottom had joined Mr Gordon at the oval. "Suck on that, De La Salle!" Mr Winterbottom grinned. "You’ve done a great job at coaching, Gordon!"

Mr Gordon had trained the team hard, however something still annoyed him: it was the other team. Boy College didn’t work this hard to play against a team that made life as difficult as this! "Bloody De La Salle!" he grunted to himself. "Here we are, trying to win, and they’re just getting in the way! Why don’t they give up?"

"Easy, Gordon." Mr Winterbottom warned him. "We’re far ahead! There’s no chance they’ll win!"

"No, I’ve had it!" Mr Gordon yelled, standing up.

Mr Winterbottom was aware of Mr Gordon’s short temper and took hold of him quickly. "For god’s sake, calm down! We don’t need another incident like last week, with the table tennis team!" he snapped.

But just as Mr Gordon was beginning to calm down, something awful happened. De La Salle, bloody De La Salle, had caught the ball! The batsman for Boy College was out!

"It’s okay," Mr Winterbottom assured the fuming coach. "In thirty seconds, we will have won the match!"

But Mr Gordon was beyond the breaking point. "Let go of me!" he bellowed, throwing Mr Winterbottom’s arm away. Before anyone could do anything, Mr Gordon ran onto the field, took hold of a cricket bat and hammered it over the boy’s head. "Let’s see you catch a ball now!" he laughed.

Mr Winterbottom was really worried now. "Come back here at once!" he called out.

But Mr Gordon simply stuck his rude finger up at him, and pulled a wicket out of the ground, snapping it in two. "Come on?" he sneered. "Who wants to fight me? I’ll bloody stab you if you come near me, you little bastards!"

By this time, the children had run off the pitch in fright. Mr Winterbottom sat down, his hands covering his face.

Mr Gordon dropped the broken wicket from his hands and lowered his head in shame.

Back at the school, Mr Gordon was in trouble. "That’s the second game you’ve lost us this week!" Mr Winterbottom seethed. "I thought that you were still going to anger management classes! I’m paying for them, you know!"

"I’m sorry!" he answered, feebly. He felt quite ashamed; ever since he had joined the school two months before, he had lost his temper frequently. If it weren’t for Mr Winterbottom accepting the responsibility each time, the principal would have fired him by now!

"I’ve just about had it with you!" Mr Winterbottom continued. "I am only giving you one more chance! After that, I’m not going to protect you! I’m sick of paying people hush money! I’m going broke!"

"I promise it won’t happen again," said Mr Gordon. "It’s just that sports matches make me so angry! Can’t I teach music or something?" he asked.

"Well," Mr Winterbottom pondered. "I suppose the music would relax you somewhat. You can take the year eight music class from now on. And I don’t want any more of your temper tantrums, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Mr Gordon smiled, and marched out of the door.

Mr Winterbottom sighed and shook his head. "Idiot," he groaned under his breath.

The next day, Percy Pumpernickel didn’t feel well. In fact, he was quite ill and his mother had allowed him to stay at home and rest. His head hurt, he had a sore throat and had all the other symptoms that came with having a cold.

It was quite relaxing for him, actually. Not having to go to school, I mean. He didn’t have to sit quietly behind a desk while a teacher screamed at him, he didn’t have to take part in word-searches under ridiculously strict conditions, and he didn’t have to get changed for Physical Education classes in rooms devoid of privacy. Plus, he wasn’t beaten senseless every lunchtime and as his mother wasn’t home, he wasn’t beaten senseless by her either.

It was late in the morning and Percy was fast asleep. But soon, he heard a knock. "Who on earth could that be?" he asked himself, rubbing his eyes. "I’ll just pretend I’m not home." Yet, he couldn’t go back to sleep as the knocking became louder and louder.

"Hello? Hello!" croaked an unknown voice. "Is anybody there?"

Percy simply didn’t answer. But the knocking soon became far too loud, and the whole house was beginning to vibrate.

"Okay, I’m coming!" Percy finally yelled, crawling out of bed and running to the door.

"I knew someone would be home!" an old man giggled as the door opened.

Percy looked at the stranger in confusion. "Can I help you?"

"Hello there, little boy!" the old man said cheerfully, stepping into the house. "Weather’s quite nice today, isn’t it!"

Percy didn’t know what to say. "Look, if you’re selling something, I’m not interested. I’m feeling a little unwell," he notified him.

"Oh, sorry to hear that!" the old man smiled, giving his hair a rub. "Let’s say I fix you up a nice lemonade!"

"I don’t think we’ve got any lemonade," Percy told him.

"Oh, sure you do!" the old man laughed, running down the corridor and straight for the fridge. He began shuffling through all of the items, spilling a carton of milk as he went. "Where’s your lemonade?" he yelled, and slammed the fridge door shut.

"I told you, we don’t have any!" Percy yelled. "Now, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you this…who are you?"

The old man stared at him blankly. "Who am I?" he laughed, as if the question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

Percy was starting to get nervous. "Look, I’ll clean up the mess by the fridge," he offered, trying to avoid the situation.

But the old man wasn’t very happy himself. "Young boy, you don’t just let strangers like me into the house without testing whether they are trustworthy!" he said severely. "I could be anyone!"

Percy rolled his eyes back. He could say that again! Who was this man? He had just barged into his house! Hopefully he’d be gone before his mum came home.

"We’re going to have to do a trustworthy test!" the old man smiled. "Young boy, what is your name?"

"Uh, Percy."

"Margaret, you have to shut your eyes, and fall backwards. I’ll catch you, and then you’ll know that I am trustworthy."

What was the harm? He stood in front of the old man, shut his eyes and fell backwards. "Ow!" Percy yelled as he fell painfully onto the floor with a thud.

"Now you really know that I am trustworthy!" the old man laughed. "If I was a bogey man, I would have caught you in my arms!"

Percy stood up. He was going to have to tell the old man to leave sometime, but he didn’t want to hurt his feelings. "So, I suppose that you must be in a hurry?" he asked.

"No, I’ve got all day!" the old man smiled, running to Percy’s mother’s bedroom.

"Um, where are you going?" Percy asked. "That’s my mother’s room!" He chased after him and found him bouncing on his mother’s bed.

"Wee!" he yelled in excitement. "This is fun!"

As the bed collapsed into a broken heap, Percy groaned and shook his head. "What have you done?"

"Newfangled beds!" the old man sighed. "In my day, we could jump on the bed all day without a single leg breaking!"

"Well, I’d just like to say that it’s really great to teach you kids music," Mr Gordon smiled that morning. "You’re all very nice and very well behaved."

The class remained quiet.

"Well, does anyone have anything to say?" he asked. But there was no reply. "Look, don’t be afraid to talk to me! No one’s said anything about me, have they?"

They class remained silent.

"People have been saying things, haven’t they!" he yelled, kicking his desk over.

A child at the front began to cry.

"Oh, don’t cry!" he urged him. "I didn’t mean to get upset just then, it’s the bloody government! The state school’s teachers are getting a five-percent increase in wages, while private school teachers get nothing! It’s an outrage!" he shouted, kicking his desk back up again.

The boy didn’t stop crying, so Mr Gordon turned his back on the class. "Easy, Gordon," he said to himself. "It’s not their fault. They’re great kids! All of them!" He then turned back to them with a smile. "Sorry about that!" he chuckled nervously. "Say! How about I play the guitar!"

The class remained silent, but the boy stopped crying.

"Great. This is what I personally think should be the Australian National Anthem," he announced, taking out a guitar from the music room’s cupboard. "Down Under by Men At Work. It goes like this!" he said, strumming the guitar. "I come from a land down under!" he sung. "Where women grow and men splendour…"

It was at this point in the song where a boy began to laugh. Now, while Mr Gordon could have taken this as a good thing, that he was cheering them up, he decided that this kid was making fun of him! He stopped playing the guitar and smashed it fiercely on the floor.

"I have had it with you little arseholes!" he screamed, his eyes wide open in fury. "That song should be the national anthem, but it’s…criminals like you that want to keep the Advance Australian Flipping Fair! I’m going to sue all of you, you hear me? You should all be in gaol!"

The boy at the front of the class began to cry again, and Mr Gordon got a hold of himself. "Look, I’ll forget it," he sighed. "It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. You’re a great class." He looked at them with a wide smile. "I know! We’ll all form a little band, and play it together!"

They said nothing and the boy continued to cry.

"Okay, there’s twenty of you here," Mr Gordon said, thinking carefully. "So, I’ll put five of you on the xylophone, five of you on the glockenspiels, five on the rhythm sticks and five on the triangles. It’ll sound great! I’ll tape it, and we’ll release it as a single! It’ll be super!"

He took out all the instruments and the class organised themselves neatly into the four groups. "That’s great!" Mr Gordon smiled, shaking his head. "You’re all fantastic…a brilliant group to work with!" He took out a microphone as well, and plugged it into the recorder. "Testing, testing," he cheerfully spoke. "Take one, Down Under by Gordon and the Kids!"

However, everything began to go wrong for Mr Gordon. They were terrible players! The glockenspiel-ists were completely inept! The triangles were off tune, the rhythm sticks weren’t working, and the xylophone players were the worst that he had heard in a long, long time! He brought the microphone to his mouth and instead of singing, began yelling hatefully.

"You useless little bastards! You are hopeless! You are crap! You are killing me!" he screamed. This time, he had really blown his top, and there was nothing anyone could do. The kids were terrified as Mr Gordon crushed the glockenspiel with his foot, and kicked the xylophones into the wall. He then took hold of the sharpest triangles, bent them, and tried to stab some children in the backs. "Get the hell out of my music class, you dirty little maggots!" he threatened, throwing rhythm sticks at the remaining students until the music room was completely empty.

As he heard boys crying in the distance, Mr Gordon fell to his knees. "Oh no, they’ll tell Mr Winterbottom for sure!" he said, sorrowfully. When it became silent again, he stood up and laughed. "They’ll have to find me first!" he cackled, crawling out of the window.

"I don’t think you should do that," Percy warned.

"Look, I’m hungry, okay!" the old man told him as he put a can of cat food in the microwave and switched it on.

"Look, you’ve already broken my mother’s bed, blocked my toilet with self-raising flower and broken the tap in my shower!" Percy told him. "My mother will come home in the next hour, so can you please behave yourself? You still haven’t told me your name!"

Just as he said that, the microwave began to spark, followed by a bang. "Newfangled gadgets," the old man crooned.

"Why don’t I just give you something proper to eat? I’ll make you a sandwich!" Percy urged.

"No, I’m fine thanks," the old man replied, opening up the smoking microwave and taking out the cat food. "I hope your cat doesn’t mind."

"No, but my mum will!"

"Woman, is she?" the old man asked, taking a spoonful from the can of Whiskas Beef and Jelly.

"She would be, wouldn’t she?" Percy answered. "Now, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling a bit ill, so could you hurry up and leave?"

The old man looked up at him with a sly grin. "You mean…"

"Yes!" Percy shouted. He hoped that the old man would realise that he wasn’t welcome in the house. He was a complete stranger!

"Okay, let’s do it!" the old man declared cheerfully, throwing the remainder of the cat food at the wall. "We’ll be pirates!"

"What?" Percy asked. Couldn’t this old man take a hint? He was causing trouble!

The old man ran outside and before Percy could stop him, he brought a hose out from the backyard and turned it on. "We’ll sail the seven seas!" the old man laughed, and tipped the fridge over. "This’ll be our ship! I’ll be the captain, and you can be the cabin boy!"

"Stop it!" Percy yelled, running outside and turning off the tap. "Just stop it! We’re not going to play pirate games! We’re going to clean up this mess and you’re going to leave me alone!"

"No, I’m not!" the old man smiled, before causing complete havoc. Percy watched in horror as the old man tore the curtains off, opened a packet of cereal, threw it all over the carpet, then began pouring apple juice and milk all over it! And the worse thing for Percy was that the old imbecile wouldn’t stop laughing!

Percy was feeling extremely ill at this point and was beginning to get a migraine. He fell to the ground and began to sob. "Who are you?" he cried. "What are you trying to do to me? When my mum gets home, I’m going to be the one who gets into trouble!"

But the old man had now stopped giggling and was completely silent! He had been electrocuted while urinating on the fridge!

"Oh, no!" Percy yelled. "Are you okay?" He felt for the old man’s pulse. It was still there! He must have been unconscious.

Wait a minute, he thought. If he could dump his body somewhere, nobody would ever know that he was there! It was a cruel thing to do, but at least Percy would finally be free! He’d be able to get some rest, finally!

And that is exactly what Percy did. He dragged the old man’s unconscious body out of the house and into the bushes. The old man was finally out of the house! Percy sniggered to himself and ran back inside, locking the door.

Mr Winterbottom and the children found Mr Gordon hiding in a cupboard in the music room.

"There you are, Mr Gordon!" Mr Winterbottom pointed angrily. "I’ve had a chat with your students, and if what they are saying is true, you’re in big trouble!"

"Why?" Mr Gordon laughed, crawling out the cupboard. "What have the little fellas been telling you this time?"

"What they told me, Gordon, was that you smashed your guitar on the ground, broke the music equipment and tried to stab them!"

Mr Gordon looked stunned. "Well, they’re obviously lying!" he laughed nervously.

"Are you lying?" Mr Winterbottom asked the kids quickly. They shook their heads. "They’re not lying, Mr Gordon, and you know it!"

"Look, I know that in the past I’ve lost my temper, but this time you’ve got to believe me!" Mr Gordon pleaded. "I didn’t do anything! They’re just trying to get me fired!"

"If you didn’t do anything, why were you hiding in the cupboard?" Mr Winterbottom asked.

Mr Gordon looked around nervously. "…There was a spider."

"There was a spider?" Mr Winterbottom laughed sarcastically. "Well, let’s look for the spider then!"

"Um, he’s not here any more," Mr Gordon butted in. "He ran away when he saw you coming!"

"So," Mr Winterbottom frowned. "You’re claiming that the class ran perfectly and you didn’t lose your temper."

"Exactly!" Mr Gordon smiled. "They’re lying!"

"Are you lying?" Mr Winterbottom asked the students again. "Did Mr Gordon really get angry with you?"

"He did!" a boy yelled. "Look in the music cupboard! Look at all of the instruments! They’re broken!"

Mr Winterbottom searched his pockets, but he didn’t have the keys. "Mr Gordon, do you have the keys to the cupboard?"

Mr Gordon looked away from him.

"Mr Gordon, I’m asking you a question!"

But he didn’t reply.

"Mr Gordon! Hand me over the keys to the cupboard! If the instruments aren’t broken, then the kids have been lying!"

"No!" Mr Gordon yelled, finally. "I’m not giving you the keys, Winterbottom!"

"If you don’t hand them over, I’ll get someone else to open it, Gordon!"

"Fine!" he replied with a huff. "Do your worst!"

"I am going to get the keys off the principal!" Mr Winterbottom told him angrily and marched away, the kids following closely behind him.

That was the last anyone heard of Mr Gordon. He escaped out of the window when everyone had gone and neither he, nor his keys, were ever seen again.

Percy was desperately trying to clean up the mess that the strange old man had left behind. But it was futile! His mother would be home soon and there was no way he could mop the floors, fix the bed, repair the shower tap and unblock the toilet before she arrived! All he could do for now was tidy up the kitchen a little.

Soon, there was a knock at the door again. "Uh, I seem to be outside!" went a croaky, elderly voice.

Percy gave a groan. That weirdo was back! Well, tough luck, he thought. He wasn’t opening the door this time!

"Hello? I think the door is locked!" the old man continued, thumping on the window.

Percy continued to mop the floor, and thankfully, after five minutes, the knocking ceased. "He finally got the bloody message!" he smiled to himself.

Alas, it wasn’t to be. Before long, there was a smash! Percy ran to the bathroom and wouldn’t you know it, the old man had fallen through the skylight!

"I’m okay," the old man smiled, and stood up on his feet. "You know, it’s funny, I was inside before, then I was outside, and now I’m inside again!"

Percy looked at him in horror. "Get out of my house!" he yelled. "I don’t know who you are, so get out, you old moron! You’ve caused nothing but trouble for me all day! Get out!"

"Funny you should mention that," the old man grinned. "The door was actually locked and I had to come through the skylight!"

He lifted up the broomstick and hit the old man in the back. "Get out! Get out!"

The old man fell to the floor and looked up at him with a smile. "Hey, buddy! That hurt!"

"I told you, get out!" Percy yelled, opening up the door and hitting the old man again. "I don’t ever want to see you again!"

"You don’t mean that!" the old man giggled as Percy struck him repeatedly with the broomstick until he was off the property.

"And don’t come back!" Percy threatened, delivering a final blow to his head. Unfortunately his mother was walking in through the driveway at that very instant!

"Percy! What are you doing to Dr Kipper?"

Percy looked at her in fright and dropped the broomstick. "Who?" he asked in bewilderment.

The old man turned to her and smiled. "Good evening, Mrs Pumpernickel!"

"I’m terribly sorry, doctor" she apologised. "Percy’s been behaving like a little brat lately. Could you come back another time?"

"Wait until you see what a mess he’s made of the house!" he laughed.

Percy looked at the old man in disgust. This was his doctor? All along, the old lunatic was his doctor?

"You dirty little bastard!" Percy’s mum yelled as she opened the door. "What have you done to the house? I’ve had it! Adoption, you little ratbag! I’m not looking after you any more!"

Percy frowned at the old man as his mother kicked him inside. The old man looked back at him with a smile and winked. "Cheers!" he laughed, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling away. "All in a day’s work for Dr Kipper!"